Blowing In The Wind
by throughmysoul44
Summary: Ten years ago, a group of young men, all traitors of their totalitarian government, banded together to create an unregulated communal living system. But as time passes, the desire for female companionship coaxes the abduction of girls from the strict city. Soon enough, sheltered Elena struggles against the blue-eyed man, who displays to her the importance of freedom and defiance.
1. Prologue

*****Dedicated to my mother, for fighting those retched demons, even after I had stopped. Because of her, I am truly free.*** xoxo Ren**

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**Ten Years Prior**

_Every flash illuminated her body, just for moment, but all with the prospect of capturing a wrinkle in time. Maybe the camera's true purpose was to hold life still, slapping it on a piece of paper for all eternity. The pictures that cascaded onto her chest would never reveal the truth, but as Damon casually stuffed more socks into the backpack, she laid there, staring up at the one pink speck amongst the vast white ceiling, snapping photo after photo until her eyes saw only blotches of vision._

"_Damon," She sighed, "I have to tell-"_

_His finger quickly pressed to her lips to silence her. Chills swam up her spine in a spasm when the teen nearly jumped onto the mattress to hover the girl's bare silhouette. The shutter of the camera clicked over and over, accompanied by an onslaught of light._

"_Pose for me," He laughed, "We have to go soon. Let's leave a couple dirty ones here for your parents to find when they come home later."_

_The deep black of his tendrils smothered her skin like feathers. She forced herself to smile for the sake of that young boy she was running away with, but the tears barely hid behind her faintly brown eyes. Damon suckled her bottom lip, rubbing his worn jeans against her vulva roughly, as if no amount of friction could fulfill him. _

"_Your skin is so smooth," He chuckled when his palm came to grope her warm thigh._

"_I used my dad's straight razor." She muttered her words in a soft, monotonous breath._

_The girl's eyes seemed empty, but Damon's attention was somewhere else entirely in those moments. Possibly his lust and hormones had dominated his ability to read her emotions. How could he not see it scrolled across her brows? All she wanted was for him to be able to know without so much as parting her lips._

"_You little rebel. Shaving your body is a sin," He huskily whispered into her ear, standing on his knees to steady the camera above her._

_Her cheeks grew a warm blush suddenly, and she twisted her waist suggestively, pushing her chest out until those wild dark locks of hers could just drift above her perky nipples. Occasionally she changed her pose while Damon snapped the portraits. He moved to stand on the floor and soon enough, photographs scattered the floor too, each bursting from the mechanism, one by one until the girl could no longer bear to play the childish game. _

"_I'm not going," She mumbled, and as if her words had broken the camera, the room silenced._

_Damon's vibrantly blue eyes widened, fixed in shock. The photos squeaked beneath his boots as he breathlessly adjusted his feet. _

"_What?" He trembled. "Verity…"_

"_I'm sorry," She cried, sitting up and reaching out to comfort him._

_His feet moved him backwards, step by step until he felt far enough away not to hurt her. The confession had paralyzed him to the point that his face no longer showed any emotion, and all the anger began to coagulate, first in his fingertips and then his heart and finally his lungs. He simply stared piercingly as the young girl promptly threw her dress back on, possibly out of shame. _

"_Fine, don't come. Like I even care," He spat, snatching the bag from the desk and stuffing a handful of photos into it recklessly. "Do you think I want to be a part of their fucked up army?"_

"_Damon, listen," The girl pleaded, bolting from the bed until she could grab his tense shoulder._

_The fabric of his shirt swaddled every contour of his muscled back, but all Verity could see was the betrayal seemingly etched into the stitches he wore, as if his clothing could understand his emotion. Tears trickled along her cheeks, and the longer she remained silent, the faster they began to multiply. _

"_I can't go with you. We're seventeen. It was fun to be rebellious and crazy, but leaving...that I-I can't do. My family is here," She sobbed desperately._

_Only a moment was needed for Damon to turn on his heels to face her tall frame. His jaw was clenched, restraining him from snapping at her in anger._

"_Yeah, a family who tries to control you." The words were sharp, and they penetrated right through Verity._

"_Then what are you doing right now?" She nearly screamed with a set of lungs that shook violently at the realization that she was going to lose him forever._

"_You think this is control? No, no, Ver…" He hissed, seizing her wrist, "This is me controlling you."_

_Verity shrieked from the sudden attack, and as his lungs began to pant, she fought against him with more vigor. The backpack was in one hand, her defiant wrist in the other. Down the steps of the generic home he hauled her. With every step, Damon grew harsher in his attempt to dominate the girl, and she stumbled along behind him, crying to let her be._

"_Damon," She whimpered again and again, "No."_

_Soon the ground beneath her was no longer wood, but rather, grass. It scraped against her knees, marking her with streaks of dark green. He threw the bag onto his shoulder, turning to pluck Verity from the earth. His strong arms gripped her until they were steadily anchored around her waist. _

"_Let me go or I will scream," She warbled hysterically, "I'll scream until the neighbors hear."_

_His grip loosened just enough for her to stop fighting him. Bruises tattooed her wrist, just as blood and grass stained her knees. Damon gasped at what he had done, nearly dropping her. As she tumbled to the safety of the hard ground, her lungs shook in relief. The male hesitantly took a step toward her disheveled body as if to comfort her, but he paused then._

"_Haven't you done enough?" Verity spat, "Go. Just go."_

"_Ver, I-I," He struggled to speak._

_Rapid footsteps sounded in the distance, and Damon could feel his legs begging him to run. His heart was tearing him apart. How could he leave her, after all he had done to find a way out? _

"_Go," She screamed a final time, spit spewing from her lips._

_His eyes met hers for just a moment, but it was enough for him to feel as though he had memorized her. Then finally, against the will of his heart, the teen took off down the strategically square grid of that pitiful city. Tears flew behind him as he ran, and in that moment, he felt as though he would vomit. Street after street came and went, until his name could be heard in the distance, and as he drew nearer their faces appeared vividly before him._

"_Come on, we've got to go," Tyler barked. "Where the fuck were you?"_

"_Don't worry about it," Damon panted, securing the bag onto his back. _

_And as if the taste of freedom could be felt on their tongues, thirteen pairs of feet began to pound the earth with ferocity. Every breath fed the air slapping against their bodies, and every thump of their hearts brought them another moment closer to triumph. Damon pressed on, even as his eyes continued to well up with anguish, even as he suppressed the sobs bubbling up in his chest. As they picked up pace, Stefan's hand slapped his back encouragingly, their lungs huffing in sync._

"_We're going home, Brother," Stefan cheered with an undying grin._

_The sun was just coming up over the horizon. The guards would be coming to the end of their shifts, likely too exhausted to chase after a band of traitors. It was a risk each of them knew they would have to take if they wanted more than what the government sparingly provided. Of them, only two were girls, and as they sprinted alongside the group, they clung to their boyfriends in fear. All were so young it seemed. Many were just teenagers when they had left their families, when they had left everything for the hope of being truly free. Verity was supposed to find that freedom beside Damon. Her hopes and dreams were of a different cloth, he had learned. Though the same color, hers was of another texture and material completely. _

_When the group came to the final high-wired fence keeping them from the outside world, knees buckled and lungs gasped tenaciously. Wes and Tyler worked to loosen the damaged fence upward until there was a clear opening. Days earlier, the boys had created their escape, careful to wear rubber on their hands when hacking the electric fence. Soon, each person began to make their way through, meticulous and slow beneath the jagged spikes the destruction had created. The last to slip through was Stefan, only fifteen, but with the soul of an old man. _

_Just as the boy dragged his feet safely onto the sacred ground the others stood, bullets rang out from above. All persons bolted up the base of the tree-ladened mountain just outside the fence, where they planned to escape through. Damon grabbed his younger brother's hand, helping him to his feet frantically. Adrenaline replaced their blood that day, every pint. _

_The group scrambled up the steepness of the terrain until exhaustion began to mercilessly nip at them. Pieces of the ground exploded like volcanos from where the bullets ricocheted, and for a moment they nearly clipped someone's heel. Stefan began to slow suddenly, his hand slipping from his brother's._

"_Keep going," Damon grunted, yanking his hand desperately._

"_I need to stop," He said so calmly through his panting, "Please, Damon."_

_Stefan allowed himself to collapse to the forest floor, and his brother nodded just slightly in agreement, for he had no other choice but to follow. The others continued up the incline without looking behind, and a part of Damon ached at the thought of never catching them again._

"_I-I," The boy wearily slurred._

_His eyes struggled to look at his brother before they blurred his sight completely. Damon caught the younger teen's body when it slumped backwards against the morning dew, gasping in surprise. Just like a baby, Damon cradled his brother, and for some reason that day Stefan's hair was a very light brown, and his eyes a vivid moss green, just as he had looked as a little boy wrestling with his older sibling. _

"_Stefan," He yipped, shaking the weak body in his arms._

_Just then, Damon realized the red centered on his brother's chest. It seeped like an overflowing street drain, and understandably, the boy holding him trembled in horror. _

"_Stefan," He screamed, pressing his palm to the wound. "No. Not now."_

_Blood lathered Damon's hands like lotion, and as it drained from his brother, the hope dwindled with it. The boy's lungs wheezed for air, but with such composure that Damon could not decide if he was gone yet, not until words fluttered into the breeze._

"_I'm gonna b-be free." Then just like that, the wind carried his voice up and away forever._

_A smile grew, not just on his lips, but in those child-like orbs with which transfixed so naturally, as if he had practiced all his life. The air then froze around them, the world silenced, and the sun sprinkled down just enough light to reflect in Stefan's glazed eyes. Two souls died that day, each granted their freedom, but neither able to know the other's. As if punished for his will to be free, Damon Salvatore lost everything, everything but his tangible existence and a vendetta the world had yet to know._

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**Author's Note**: Thank you so much to **LiveBreatheVampires** for beginning a new journey with me even during her super busy schedule!

This story is in an alternate universe (AU) and is also all-human (AH). Rated M for adult themes and dark innuendos.

I hope you enjoyed the prologue! xoxo Ren


	2. To Be

"_**To be in opposition is not to be a nihilist." ~Christopher Hitchens**_

**Elena**

There is something distinctly pleasing about the creaking wood beneath my feet. It feels safe, almost soothing, as if the cold seeping into my soles is to remind me that I am home. Each step is meticulous, following the single beam of morning light scrolled across the hallway. All the houses in Pryhaven are equally small, each room identical to that of the neighbors, and one tiny window is all that lines the corridor, just big enough to illuminate a slice of it.

My own room is nothing more than a nook carved into this box, but it fits my petite bed and a dresser and I suppose, me. All the girls at the scholar camp say the same, knowing that the blueprints are in sync for every family. There is a photograph of the president above my dresser, and his lips are thin and relaxed, but he seems firm in his demeanor. This same portrait hangs in every room of the house, as if he is watching us all.

When changing my clothing, I throw a blanket over his eyes, too skittish to feel a man's gaze. Even as the years have passed, the thought of another person seeing me so openly sends shivers down my back. Afterward, I will nervously remove the shield, only to notice that the white walls surrounding the frame emphasize his light gray orbs, and so they appear even more striking and even more demanding. In the mornings, my mother reminds me to bow before his cameo, to thank him for the beautiful life he has given us. It is a beautiful life, with everything we could ever need. That I am sure.

This day is special. The soldiers are coming home to Pryhaven, including my brother. Flags line the streets in preparation for their return, girls pinning the president's face on their cardigans. I observe them from my window, watching their matching white skirts sway at their knees, where the beginning of their long socks begin. All the girls' hairs are shoulder length, trimmed carefully into an even line around their throats. They smile as they make their way to the scholar camp with their books in hand and black dress-shoes clicking against the pavement. I will soon join them, just as soon as I change into my daily ensemble, and quite possibly pull a comb through my ragged tendrils.

As always, I drape the white blanket over the portrait that attentively glares in my direction, peeling off my nightgown in search of a clean white skirt and an accompanying blouse. They feel cool against my flesh as they slide over my undergarments, and I cannot help but smile at the thought of a future man assisting me in the action. I imagine soft, warm fingertips meeting my skin each morning, colliding almost by mistake. To be able to share such intimacy causes a flutter from within my abdomen, but I must keep my mind pure. I sigh tenaciously, adjusting the button-down blouse one last time before threading my arms into the pale blue cardigan.

The matching socks are the next to slip onto my bronze legs. They hug my calves, and I already imagine the sweat collecting between the stitches like a spider's web. The dress-shoes are scuffed on the toes, but I roll my eyes at the blunder, pulling them on without much conscious influence. All-in-all, I feel good today. The sun is already blaring in the sky, as if to greet me with only positivity. For now, I can simply breathe and wait for the feel of my brother's arms enveloping me as they had so long ago.

Downstairs I find my mother working languidly at the stove. Her outfit is much more sophisticated than the scholars'. Every ten years the required clothing changes so that everyone can know one's age and purpose. Anyone can tell that she is a mother, a wife, and a woman in her late 30's, almost ready to earn her red cardigan and shortened hairstyle when she reaches 40. She looks beautiful to me, well-aged, and proper. Her body soon turns in my direction at the sound of my scholar shoes slapping against the floor.

"The ration for this month included those biscuits that like," She says with a small smile.

"Shouldn't we save those for dinner? Micah loves those too, remember?" I encourage, scooping up the books on the family table.

My mother sighs. "He does love them, doesn't he? It'll be good to have him home."

The kitchen feels stuffy today, possibly more confined than I had previously thought. I feel crammed into the corner of the room, determined to avoid obstructing my mother's path.

"If the matchmakers let her, I think Caroline may marry him," I laugh, "He won't even be home five minutes before she'll be begging them to arrange it."

"She's a nice girl. I can't say I would be upset." The wrinkles around my mother's tired eyes are exaggerated in the glow of the sun against her face.

She squints to lessen the intensity, but I can tell that she likes the warmth on her skin. Even so, each of her breaths seems exhausted, as if the life is draining from her. Is that what this life does to a woman, to a wife? _My poor mother_, I think to myself, scarfing down the oatmeal on the countertop, and sprinkling it with the tiny punnet of berries beside it. I quickly press myself up against the table to make room for her to pass behind me with a plate of something in her hands.

"What would it be like to have two daughters?" I ask casually.

"Well that would never happen. Every couple has one girl and one boy. You know that." She returns to the flame, finally turning the stove off and pulling the pan from the grate.

"I wish Micah were a girl. That way he would never have to leave us again."

It is true. Never would he have to disappear for interminable bouts, for times far too long to bear. My brother's absence has been slowly murdering my mother, and although she denies it, I can see it in her eyes. Almost every night, my father guards the bedroom door when all she wants to do is cry. He's a good man like that, and it breaks him as much as it does his wife, but his pain comes from my mother's suffering and not his own.

"Micah is protecting our freedom out there."

She points out to nothing in particular, some place outside the fence. I try to peek through the petite window, but another house blocks the view. Defeated, I step back.

"What is out there?" I question, knowing I may regret the answer.

"Death," she mumbles, "Death and traitors."

She uses her wrist to push her wet hair from her forehead, soaked in sweat and exhaustion. The carrots on the wooden board seem to cry out every time my mother jams the knife downward, polarizing the vegetable into chunks. Sometimes her way of coping causes fear to collect inside me, an almost abstruse reaction to her hardship.

"I have to go," I say softly, backing out of the kitchen slowly.

"Be home before the curfew. It's been shortened because of the soldiers coming home," She says in a low whisper. "The guards do not appreciate disobedience, Elena."

I'm not sure she knows it, but I see tears splash against the working surface below her touch. It breaks my heart, it just tears me to pieces.

I ease into the routine of the day as soon as I am whistled into obedience. My shoulders are pressed back, my spine as straight as a pin, and my chin held high. The line of girls is nothing less than synchronized. There are just two, both orderly and without fault. A professor treks up and down the queues, gawking at us contentiously. She uses her pointing wand to punish those who do not match up to such a paragon of virtue.

"Honor your leader," She spits, and as if ingrained in our minds, we salute the giant canvas where his photo marks the wall of the corridor.

Then without distraction, the woman leads us toward our first session of the day. Our feet stamp the ground simultaneously and with confidence, as we have always been taught to do. We are one body, our superiors tell us again and again. I can feel Caroline's warm breath on the back of my neck and her shoes clipping my heels as we march swiftly. Through the tall glass windows to our right we can see the scholar boys in their lines making the same journey, just in a separate building altogether. They glance at us as if they have never seen us before. Consequently their superior slaps his wand against the wall until their attentions snap forward again.

When we finally enter the first room, we strategically spread out amongst the desks, like weaving a pattern into a blanket. No one dares to slouch, not even for a second. We know the consequences all too well by now, and so as we wait for our first session professor, we hold our breaths to keep from making a peep. The walls are blank, so white that one's mind could become lost by staring at it for too long. Still, all attention remains straight ahead, and nervously I adjust my shoes under my desk.

Even as Mr. Carter steps inside, no one acknowledges his presence, eyes fixed forward. Justly, the woman leaves us to the man's disposal, and lungs can once again reclaim their purposes. Girls turn to smile in relief at one another, and I must admit that I feel calmer. Our professor is lenient with us, and today he nods his head at me when our gazes meet, as if to say hello. I smile back. His hair is a dirty blonde, even lighter against the light illuminating the space. My stomach bubbles slightly, like seeing him for the first time.

"So we've talked about nihilism here before," He begins, clapping his hands together, obviously enthralled by the topic. "What does it mean?"

His eyes are a quiet brown, and with every intake of breath they seem to land on mine. I nervously click my concentration to something else entirely, but I've been caught. The way he looks at me, smiles at me...it's all so intense, and my cheeks grow warm.

"Elena?" He says, and strangely the word echoes throughout the room.

"Um...nihilism is...um…" I stammer like an idiot.

"The total rejection of laws or institutions?" He laughs jokingly, "Is that what you meant to say?"

I nod, just a simple movement of my head. Everyone else tries not to chuckle at my gaffe. For the first time in a long time, I slouch, nearly ashamed.

"So, the city has had traitors, ladies. Those who believe that laws are restricting, and yet fail to remember what the world was like before them. They have been proven to be mentally incompetent, and therefore lack the ability to feel compassion," He shouts in a rumble, "They are despicable sub-humans that need to be annihilated from this world. Barbaric, ladies, that's what they are. Whatever they try to tell you is a lie."

The room silences at his words. Mr. Carter's forehead is moist with sweat, his bottom lip nearly quivering. As before, no one moves, breathes, or even blinks. His fingers grip a chair, not for support, but in anger. For a moment we fear the man, one of the few we never imagined that we could. Then finally he looks up at the class, scanning the room for our attentions.

"There is no fear in our lives, ladies, okay? But there are sick-minded people who want nothing more than to ruin us. They steal girls. They steal innocent girls when nobody's looking in order to teach us a lesson, and they expect us not to fight back. I know one of the women whose daughter was abducted years ago, but not a day goes by where I don't wish that they could bring her home," He lectures.

His eyes strain for an instant before falling towards the door.

"I'll be right back. Keep it down or Mrs. Kent will come back." Then he vanishes from the space, his fingers shakily pushing through his crisply styled hair.

The room immediately breaks out into hushed whispering, girls turning left and right to snicker about the professor's ordeal. Caroline moves herself to sit beside me, smiling as though lunch is already being served. Her hair is the lightest blonde of anyone I know, and although we are so different, I swear we could have been sisters. I am rather quiet, but no, not Caroline. She is loud and flamboyant and energetic, just when nobody's looking.

"Elena," She whispers, "I spent all night thinking about our futures. I mean, just imagine it. A man kissing your lips, holding you, mumbling that he loves you."

I cannot help but smile at her. The thought alone can turn my knees to moosh.

"Close your eyes," She begs, and so I do.

Her hand suddenly moves to the small gap between my sock and the hem of the white skirt. I gasp at the sensation, snapping myself away from her.

"Come on," She whines, "I have to show you something."

Hesitantly I nod, moving myself back into the seat. As soon as my lids are sealed, the girl again rests her touch on my knee. I swear there is a smile on her face, even as I cannot see it. Caroline is just that way, I suppose...predictable.

"Before you know it, Elena, we'll be married. Imagine that kiss...oh the kiss alone. But then I thought about it some more. He's going to see you naked and…" She moves her touch up my thigh slowly, "Maybe even touch you."

"We're going to get caught," I panic, shaking my thigh nervously.

"Admit it, Elena. It feels good," She encourages, finally pulling away. "I-I am so excited. Love is amazing, isn't it?"

I suddenly feel dirty, tainted, and something doesn't feel right about it, at all. The blush forming on my cheeks begins to spread further down along my face until I am sure that I look like a beet. The skin of my thigh is still tingling, and it's as if everyone around me knows it too.

"Ms. Gilbert, I would like to see you after class," A voice says behind us.

We whip around to see our professor stepping toward us, foot by foot with hands locked together behind him. Neither Caroline nor I know how he came to be there, especially when the entrance to the room is at the front. If my face isn't red enough, I can feel the sweat leak from my pores in humiliation.

Caroline quickly bolts from the chair beside me until she is returned to her desk two rows back. I swivel to face the front, likely to hide my shame from Mr. Carter as his shoes squeak past me toward the board at the front. His clothing tells me that he is in his 30's, just as my mother still wears. The shirt hugs his biceps, and I wince. Does he know that I think about them at the dinner table? Does he know that my mind fills with shame when I see him?

"Class is dismissed early today. Take it as a gift for the soldiers' return," He finally says when he reaches his desk.

Everyone scrambles to grab their books before returning into their rigid parade. As if an invisible beat were playing softly in the distant, feet rhythmically file forward until they disappear into the expanse of the corridor just outside. The room grows silent as the door shuts behind the last girl, and Mr. Carter's physique strides in my direction.

He sits in the chair Caroline had occupied just minutes before, but he doesn't seem to mind. My hands are entwined upon the desk, eyes concentrated on their forms. I try to hold my shaky breaths steady, and yet I know it's a failed attempt. Still, I watch in the corner of my eye as his hand comes to rest on top of mine. The touch is unexpected, and air wheezes from my lips.

"Elena, I-I've known you almost a year, and somehow the time feels right to tell you. With your brother coming home today, you seem ready to settle down," He says softly.

The hand moves to cup my cheek suddenly, and the feeling is foreign and yet intriguing. My eyes are forced to meet his.

"I can make you happy. With the permission of the matchmakers, I just know that I can give you a beautiful life." The pad of his thumb runs along my cheekbone, and I smile. "At least lend me the honor of walking you home to introduce myself to your parents."

This beautiful moment has been long awaited. To be desired is such a powerful sensation, and in it I see the love Caroline has imagined for us both. His touch makes me feel warm inside, safe somehow. I can already imagine our bodies waking to the glow of the morning, his hands helping me to dress.

"I-I would love that, Mr.-" I begin to rattle off in a deep trance.

"Landon," He corrects me, and before another moment can be spared, his lips collide with my cheek in a sweet peck that nearly sends a pulse of electricity throughout my entire system.

"I'll wait for you after your classes finish, sweetheart." He hums his warm breath against my ear. "Do you need me to walk you to your next session?"

I shake my head, feeling how fiercely my heart thumps against my ribs, the way every girl's should at the prospect of love.

* * *

The day drags from thereon, and I suddenly understand the magnitude of my modesty as my cheek still throbs in an unknown pleasure that I cannot seem to fathom. Caroline watches me from a distant, still nervous that her little charade earlier had ended in my punishment. I'm not sure if she realizes the glow on my skin today, but maybe only I can feel it from within.

When the final class is dismissed, I head toward Mr. Carter's room with a bounce in my step and a flurry of butterflies filling my insides. Girls flood in the opposite direction in pursuit of the parade to welcome home their men, giving me the chance to nearly hyperventilate outside his classroom. My hands are trembling, but I find the courage to enter, skittishly smiling when he looks up at my arrival.

"Come on in, Elena. I'll just be a minute, so make yourself comfortable," He tells me softly from his seat.

Papers scatter his desk, and the distant sound of a pen scratching against the sheets persists while I sit in the chair closest to him. He smiles even as he returns his attention to the work before him, as if he understands my nervousness. I watch his hands, imagining them wrapped around my wrists in a sweet embrace. His lips press together in concentration, and there is something about it that sends heat up my sides.

"Okay," He sighs in triumph, "Shall we go?"

He throws his bag over his shoulder, stuffing some of the papers into it as he stands. I pop up almost in panic, brushing the pleats of my skirt to keep my hands from shaking. The man gestures ahead of him politely and I obey, forcing my legs to move. Soon we walk side-by-side through the halls toward the main exit, and the silence around us seems nearly unbearable.

"I sent a letter to the matchmakers during my lunch break," He hums, adjusting the strap of the bag along his chest.

The breeze feels incredible when the doors welcome us outside, but it is strong, nearly knocking me to the pavement. Mr. Carter snatches my arm, supporting all the weight of my body for just a moment. I nervously laugh, heaving for air and turning to look up at him.

"Thank you," I whisper.

"Maybe I should hold your hand, just so that you don't blow away on me," He jokes.

I feel his hand wrap around mine, and I gasp incredulously. These feelings are nothing I have ever felt in my entire life. He takes a step forward, my legs following without protest.

"Do you mind me touching you?" He asks, staring off into the setting sun.

It is becoming increasingly dark, but the streetlights seem to illuminate the man enough for me to see his dirty blonde locks billow as he moves. I expect that my mother will be extremely pleased. To marry a professor is a great honor. Not that his house is any grander, but it is said that they are natural leaders with a splash of scrupulosity. There is something ineffably intriguing about an older man, something secure about him.

"It feels nice," I whisper, and gently he squeezes my palm.

"You seem happy today," He comments.

"Yeah, I-I've been thinking a lot about the future. With Micah coming home, something feels right with the world."

He genuinely smiles at me, slightly swinging our hands like a pendulum between us. The streets are barren except for us, but in the distance we can hear the marching. Mr. Carter is just inches taller than me, and so I find no trouble in peeking at him with my curious gaze, but I think he can feel my brown orbs following the outline of his square jaw.

"Would the world feel right with me?" He asks, stopping suddenly to face me.

The action causes my lungs to expand like a giant balloon until I am forced to acknowledge it. His hands hold both of mine now, so gently, as if I will somehow break. My eyes catch a glimpse of the lips etched into his face, a warm pink that are full like my own.

"Mr. Car- I mean Landon, it would. I just know it would." I cannot help but smile until I feel my cheeks burn with fatigue.

"Then accept this ring...at least until I can gain approval from the matchmakers. I wouldn't want another man to steal your heart before then," He says gently with a grin, slipping the piece from the pocket of his pants.

It is a simple silver band, but its symbolism is of great importance here. For now, everyone can see that I am taken, that my desire is to marry this man. Until the matchmakers mark their approval, the silver is what I will wear, and the realization indisputably makes my heart flutter like a hummingbird, with such vitality that I fear it may give out. Landon can see the awe in my eyes, and so he is filled with enthusiasm as the ring slides onto my finger, which has waited so long to feel the metal against it.

"It's beautiful," I breathe, "Wow."

"It's just like y-"

"What's going on here?" A vitriolic voice barks, and both our heads snap up to look at the man solicitously.

The guard is dressed in his uniform with a stun gun secured at his waist. His gaze searches me up and down, and I grip Landon's hand tighter in fear. Those piercing blue eyes are paralyzing and sharp and almost lifeless in a way. Atop his head sit his black locks, tousled about in a heap. One side of his mouth yanks his lip up into a crooked grin, and I cannot help but stare at his contoured arms. They look scarred and bruised and weathered. It has been awhile, but I feel irrevocably afraid.

"Isn't it past curfew?" The guard impudently asks, crossing his arms defensively.

Landon scans his watch nervously, but looks back up in relief. I can tell that he feels indignant about such harsh accusations.

"No, there's still another twenty-three minutes," He tells the man with tacit agitation.

The guard steps closer and correspondingly, Landon anchors me to his side.

"I'm just walking her home, sir," The professor adds.

"She's not married, is she?" The man snaps. "She looks so...innocent."

"O-Of course, sir. She just felt safer walking home with another person. Why so many questions? It's not past curfew and we've done nothing wrong."

The man beside me grows pale in fear, but he seems to be firm in his footing. It is not an uncommon question to be asked, however. Purity among female scholars is of the utmost importance, and so I understand the confusion of the city worker at the sight of us together.

"We wouldn't want anyone breaking the rules, now would we?" The guard firmly states.

The man's eyes meet mine, and they stay fixed as he takes another step toward us. His expression is inhuman, lost, vacant, almost as if so much time has passed that he can no longer remember how to smile. Suddenly I notice that he is holding something behind his back, fiddling with it between his palms. I gasp.

"Come on, Elena." Landon yanks my hand, pulling me right past the guard.

I catch a whiff of the guard's distinct scent as I pass, causing me to turn just slightly to look back at him. My breath catches in my lungs as a baton smashes into the back of Landon's skull, the impact resounding through not only my ears, but my entire chest. He cries out, stumbling forward just before the ground cruelly scrapes him. I feel his hand detach from mine, no longer a part of me.

"Mr. Carter," I scream.

My chest heaves in hysteria as I try to scamper away, a warbled sob ringing from my lips. I feel paralyzed, my eyes wide as I watch Landon's lifeless body hug the pavement, the blood dribbling from his skull. I instinctively crane my neck to see behind me, watching the monster cruelly step toward me, his face as lifeless as before. My legs are shaking, and I attempt to stumble away from his touch. His footsteps echo behind me. I cry out for help.

My head again and again pivots around to check the man's position, only to eventually be met with a cloth clamped over my nose. In the distance I can still hear the drums sounding and the clapping of many hands. This struggle is futile as he slams my back to his chest, his arm tied firmly around my waist. I begin to panic, thrashing myself against this wall of muscle to frantically escape the chemicals my body instantly detects. I panic, cry, beg, only until the drums unexpectedly silence. As if signaling the end, there is one last grunt from the criminal. Then finally my eyes give way, and I am left in utter darkness.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Thank you to** LiveBreathVampires** for editing!


	3. To Survive

_**To survive it is often necessary to fight, and to fight you have to dirty yourself." **__**~George Orwell**_

**Damon**

It is only the numbness that inhabits me. A person can look at my warped expression, only to discover quickly that the person they believed to be a man is nothing more than a hollow mass. Even my eyes can barely afford the strength to glance down at the girl cradled in my hold, not out of shame, but rather emptiness. I walk hastily, each leg thrusting forward in a structured march toward the fence. Every once in a while, a pedestrian will peer in my direction, and yet not a single question is asked. Maybe it is the uniform or the desolation of humanity in my demeanor.

Eventually I come to the fields filled with rows upon rows of vegetation. The corn pasture is the tallest of the crops, and so I sneak through it, careful to keep myself hidden from the suspicions of the real guards and the cameras pointed in every possible way. Corn husks brush against me as I press on, changing the position of the girl in my arms when my muscles begin to whine in rebellion. Then when I reach the green handkerchief Tyler had tied here earlier, I whistle like a bird to signal the others.

It is only moments before I can hear the husks rustle against each other as someone moves toward me. Wes emerges from seemingly nowhere with the medical stretcher in hand. I immediately help him guide her down to the soil between two rows, sighing heavily out of inexplicable lassitude. He begins preparing a syringe filled with a stronger anesthetic to keep her asleep through the long journey back to the house. I can tell the chloroform has already begun to wear off when she groans lightly at Wes's touch. Suddenly I find myself looking at her, examining her mediocre skeletal structure.

"You're not ready for this girl, are you?" Wes accuses angrily.

"Don't you dare bring that up," I nearly hiss.

"Then let's go already." The man rolls her onto her abdomen before handing me the pocket knife.

I grab the weapon confidently, as if to prove the doctor wrong. He reaches out for her filthy white skirt, now covered in dirt and streaks from where she dragged herself to get away, and shifts the fabric up around her navel. I help lift her hips while the man beside me maneuvers the underwear down mid-thigh. Without wasting another second, I press the blade into the cheek of her ass, fairly deep until blood sprouts from the laceration. Wes pours a tiny bottle of alcohol into the gash, slapping a glove into my hand. I pull it on with ease, and bury my fingers into the cut, feeling around for the chip.

My other hand holds one side of her buttcheek, only to notice how pale it is in comparison to the rest of her body, as if that part had never been kissed by the sun, not even for a second. I thrust my index and thumb deeper down, shaping the cheek this way and that in order to access the small tracking device embedded within her flesh. Blood still gushes, and I mumble a curse beneath my breath. Then finally, I feel it, tearing it from its home. Wes has already cleaned the area and pressed a bandage across her ass before I even have time to realize.

"The others are already across the fence," He mumbles as he stands.

I pull her underwear up and the skirt down until she looks just as she had before. Together we roll the girl onto the medical stretcher, just fabric stretched across two wooden poles. I take the back poles, while Wes leads the front toward the fence through the corn stalks, which tower over with such height that I nearly feel as though I am drowning. Sweat pours down my back, and I strain my eyes to try to see in front of me when the day finally turns to night around us. Soon enough I can hear Tyler huffing in impatience. Wes guides the front of the gurney into the opening of the fence while I push it forward until Tyler can pull her through.

Everything happens so quickly that I barely realize I have no time to feel the usual sadness which consumes me about now. I expect the cruel memories to take me back to that forsaken night when it happened, when I lost my brother, but I am thankful for the break. I love being the concrete wall, the emotionless and empty being.

"I can't wait to take this fucking guard uniform off," Someone complains as I crawl under the battered fence, freeing me of my trance completely.

"It's a long way back, so quit whining," Another snaps.

When I come to stand on my feet again, I look around as I catch my breath. Tyler guards his new girl, one with wild blonde hair and a soft set mouth. Beside him is Jeremy, who is stretching his muscles impatiently. The other unconscious girl has a light coffee skin and a prominent collar bone from where her outfit had somehow been torn. Kai rudely hovers the girl, planting a foot on either side of the stretcher, and mockingly dancing over her figure as the others cheer on his stupidity. Beside me is Elijah, who begins shouting at Kai to quit his charade.

"Where is Luke?" Wes's eyes search the group again and again.

"Alaric's taking care of it. He is putting up one motherfucking fight," Jeremy laughs.

Just as the words are said, the two men emerge from beneath the fence, Luke fighting against Alaric, whose arms imprison the unruly man. Luke loudly expresses his displeasure, and Wes begins to panic. Everyone joins in to help Alaric, grabbing the whiny boy and meeting his jaw with a fist.

"Shut up, you idiot," Wes growls, "You're going to expose us all."

"I didn't get a fucking girl. Everyone else-" Luke barks before being silenced with another slap to the face.

"Let's go before he creates a scene," Wes spits, and so we all begin to scramble.

There are three girls in total slumped against their stretchers. Everyone steps in to grab the ends and lift them into the warm air. We start up the mountain as I had so many times before, as I had when I lost my brother. My mind immediately wanders off into oblivion, and in some respect it hurts to be so lost. They say a person withdraws from the world when the very thing that makes them human dies. If not a human, then what am I?

* * *

The backs of my ankles strain with each step. It has been hours of endless climbing, of walking and sweating until we've begun leaving a trail of perspiration behind us. The glow of the flashlights strapped to our foreheads leads us up the rugged terrain, but my eyes are still forced to squint in the darkness of the night.

Luke continues to argue with Wes, kicking and stabbing at the ground with his feet in rage. I advance further, counting my breaths as a way to escape the realization that this endeavor is endless, and for only an ephemeral glance do I study the unconscious girl sprawled across the stretcher with the tiny glowing ray from my flashlight. Her hair is rather a dull brown, her skin equally as drab. She looks young, definitely scholarly, but old enough to marry as I had seen on the barren street just hours earlier. Conclusively, though, this girl is ordinary. Absolutely ordinary and unremarkable and dull as the hair upon her head. I turn my eyes away.

The house comes into view just as I find the strength to crane my neck forward. A few lights are on, and so they act as the torch that leads us home, but even so, the building peers back at us coldly. The coldness, however, has a warming effect for me-for the man without any warmth. This place was once a man's vacation home, in the days before the land was cleared out and made neutral among four rivaling cities to keep the peace. The owner of this house is rumored to have been a millionaire, implementing solar panels with enough strength to feed the electricity needed to keep the estate running.

The place has its own water well, its own generator, and even its own sewage disposal. When we found it, the building was abandoned, as if left on a whim. The furniture was still arranged as if someone had lived there, as if being forced to flee while still scarfing down their dinner. It's believed that there were two little girls who roamed this place with their parents, but now all that remains are their belongings, which we have all taken as our own. With a good cleaning and some minor repairs to the pipes, the place became sustainable again. If needed, the nearest capitalist city, Lochwind, is a two hour walk south.

I look up at the house again, and Jo runs out with open arms for Wes. Their bodies slap against each other with so much force that it knocks the wind right out her, but she laughs breathlessly into the wind. The others walk on toward the building, each smiling at the prospect of experiencing the same love with their new girls. Yet Jo and Jenna had run away willingly with us just a decade before. It's different when a woman is stolen from her home. Even after all they had witnessed with me, they continue to dream of a happy ending, but they're fucked up for trying to believe it is real.

Elijah sets the stretcher down on the porch in exhaustion, and I nod my head, maybe to show my gratitude, but truthfully it's just a force of habit. I reach down to the lifeless girl, plucking her from the stretcher like some doll before throwing her over my shoulder. The muscles of my arms burn with fatigue, but I know the finish line is so near. I can feel the anxiety, the need to just be finished, and so I use what little energy I have to hoist us up the staircase to the bedroom.

This place was what people years ago called a mansion. Alaric read it in some book he found on a shelf here. There are nine rooms upstairs, with four bathrooms, each built between two spaces so that they can be shared. I share mine with Alaric and Jenna, whose room is just on the other side of the second bathroom door.

Once inside my own room, I gasp for air, limping to the bed and dropping the girl right onto the mattress. Her body bounces against the surface, and I collapse beside her until the action vibrates my chest. It is so dark, but I'm not sure I can muster the thought of standing back up. I have to, though. I have to see my beloved again for fear of forgetting her face, of forgetting her completely. I bolt for the lightswitch, pausing to feel it between my fingers.

"I'm here now," I huff softly, clicking the lights on.

All around, the room is no longer engulfed in the darkness, a place where all fears seem to lurk. I open my lids to look at her. The space is nice, much grander and airier than I could have ever imagined growing up in that fucking hellhole I had come from.

"Hey, beautiful girl." I trace the photo frame on the wall, adjusting it when it appears slightly crooked. "I'm right here."

Her locks of hair are the darkest blonde, delicately draped along her scalp. There is something demonic about those hazel eyes, bright and naughty, and the button nose only emphasizes her innocuous face, as if asking to be kissed. I lean my forearms against the wall to cradle her, pressing just the center of my forehead to the glass of the frame. Silently I close my eyes, taking in just one great breath of conviction.

I feel as though my forehead begins to fuse into the glass, closer to her, I suppose. The tears threaten to burst from my lash line, and so I pull myself away from the wall. Shaking my head, I stumble to the bathroom door to check that Alaric's entrance to the room is locked. Thereafter, I nearly tear the guard uniform from my body. My face sags when I turn toward the mirror, but that's the way it has been for years. I try to smile, but the thought alone exhausts me.

My knees sink to the floor of the shower, and the water rushes over me. Sobs fill my chest, silent and yet apparent. I scratch at the tiled walls frantically as the anxiety finally explodes inside me, poisoning my blood. Before long, my lungs gasp between the empty cries of anguish.

"Come back," I murmur, "Please, God."

Hysteria settles in following the start of my chest frantically heaving as though I'm being suffocated. How could I have done this to her? Flashes of her face scroll across the wall of the shower, crying out to me. I hear her scream my name again and again helplessly. No. Don't leave me. My head slams against the tile, trying to end the voices. I grab at my deep black locks, and stretch them away from my scalp like a madman.

My hands grip the faucet, the only thing that I can hold onto for dear life when my legs begin turning to jelly. I sob, but these sobs turn into a shortness of breath as soon as her face appears right in front of me with the closing of my eyelids. It's like I am surrounded, surrounded by her on all sides. It's almost as if I can see her face everywhere I look, even when only the darkness is here. This is what frightens me. I have no control over my senses. Fuck.

I want to find comfort in self-loathing, even in crying, but I can't, because no matter what I do, no matter how many times I close my eyes…I see her. The pain is worse than it has ever been, because it also reminds me of my weakness, my incapability of forgetting and controlling myself. The fact that her presence haunts me even without my sense of sight means that I am locked; confined in a shell, or in a painful and unbreakable chain, completely helpless because I can neither get rid of that face nor actually see it in the way that I want to. But the saddest part of all is that I love this chain...as much as I hate it, I love it.

"I c-can't do this," My lips warble.

Spit slides to back of my throat, where I am forced to fight against it as it threatens to seep into my lungs. I gargle, falling backward into a heap on the shower's floor. Again and again, I curl my nails into the porcelain, but no matter how hard I try, they slip like rollerblades along the wetness. Suddenly I realize the scorching temperature of the water raining down on me. To any sane person, it would be scalding, but it feels good, somehow, and so I allow it to sizzle against my chest. A bright pink mark forms on my flesh, but I cry out in emotional anguish and not in pain.

"Fuck," I cry, bashing my foot against the shower stall.

The entire room seems to vibrate from the impact, and I just lay against the floor as if paralyzed by my own will. Again, I try to smile, but unsurprisingly the thought exhausts me, and so I return to sobbing, the same way a boy returns to his blanket for comfort.

* * *

I leave the girl upstairs on the bed, haphazardly draped across the bed, still untouched. For now I am starving, so I gobble down every particle on the plate as if it is the last of our supply. Jenna made a late dinner for all the returning boys, and as she cleans up, Lexi tries to braid her hair. I sigh, throwing my head back against the chair wearily. Beside me is Matt, and across the table are Elijah and Tyler.

"Don't you want this girl, Damon?" Matt asks casually.

I stare expressionlessly forward. "I don't know what I want."

Loud footsteps click into the kitchen, and just by the way he struts like an asshole, we can tell it is Luke. He pretends to meticulously examine the room, only to cross his arms cowardly seconds later.

"This house looks like shit. These girls do nothing around here," Luke spits as he stumbles across the floor.

All heads snap in his direction, shocked and offended by the words. Jenna especially grows angry, her hands balling up into fists.

"You're mad, Jenna, huh? Good. Then you understand how I feel," Luke continues taunting, "Damon is on his fucking second. How is that fair? He gets two bitches?"

My face grows tight, as if preparing me for battle. The valves of my heart begin working overtime because just the very mention of my pain is threatening, almost debilitating.

"Shut up, man," Tyler shouts, "Quit being a pussy."

Tyler stands up and walks slowly toward Luke, whose blonde hair sweeps along his face as he turns to leave. Tyler's broad shoulders and masculine nose are enough to scare away even the biggest douchebags like Luke. Some things just never change.

"Is Kai going to stalk the girl until she wakes up?" Matt laughs jokingly.

"Actually Wes told me he's already fucking her upstairs." Tyler picks at his cuticle so nonchalantly, so calmly. "She wasn't even awake for an hour before he spread her legs."

Everyone at the table laughs, but I stare lifelessly in their direction. I begin shaking my head in disbelief. There is no decency left in any of them, no respect. My heart pounds as I stand, scraping my chair against the hardwood purposely.

"You guys are messed up," I grumble, rolling my eyes and walking toward the entrance of the kitchen.

"Woah, Mr. High-And-Mighty, didn't you fuck that girl...what's her name?" Tyler laughs, "Starts with an R. Is it Reg-"

Before he can even say her name, my fist smashes against his jaw, knocking him right to the kitchen floor. Voices gasp and holler around me, but it drowns away. I swoop down to grab Tyler's shirt, gripping it until my knuckles are a ghostly white. Again and again, I slam my fist into him. Jenna cries out, but all I can hear is the splattering of his blood. So much anger consumes me, so much hatred.

"You are not worthy enough to say her name," I roar, knocking his cheek another time. "You scumbag."

Finally, someone yanks me off of Tyler, restraining my arms and pulling me backwards. Blood traces Tyler's teeth, staining them in a crimson red. Chests heave, faces frozen in shock at my outburst, but I keep fighting against Alaric, who has secured himself against a wall for stability.

"Damon, calm down," Alaric barks, "It's over, man. It's over."

Wes grabs one of my arms, shouting at Alaric to take me elsewhere. I watch Tyler hold his cheek, cursing in shock at the artwork I had made with his face while Lexi and Vicki stand on the balcony of the second floor, spectating as the two men pull me into the living room. My jaw locks as I clench my teeth together, and I can feel the splitting skin of my knuckles tingle in displeasure.

One of the men thrusts me into a chair, but I stare forward, past them, as if they are simply figments of my imagination. Wes yells something at me, and somehow I hear nothing. After years of hating people, I have discovered the power to drown out their voices without even trying. My hands are still shaking uncontrollably as I continue panting for air.

"You can't go on like this forever," Wes says softly with a washcloth in his hand. "It's not fair to anyone, and we all know she would have never wanted this for you."

Instead of slowing down, my heart beats faster. I want the world to stop talking, for everyone to leave me in peace. If not for being stopped by the hands of these men, I would have returned to that kitchen to beat Tyler to a pulp, until every drop of anger had drained out through my knuckles.

Wes begins wrapping the sore shredded flesh of my fingers, his eyes searching my face for something possibly redeeming about me. I don't give him anything. The man he knew so many years ago died. They say he drowned in a puddle of his own tears, and even after he had perished, the tears leaked from his eyes until a river had formed around him, carrying not only his body, but his soul. He still roams this earth in search of that very ball of energy, but it's rumored that the wind cruelly snatched it away. No one has yet to return it to him. No one has yet to even try.

"Do you want to talk?" Wes asks, but I know exactly what he wants from me. I am not in the mood for a pity-party. I am not to be pitied.

A sharp scream is what pulls me from my thoughts, the shrillness resounding throughout the space. Repeatedly the girl cries out for help, and I just sigh wearily, yanking my hand from Wes before I rise from the chair listlessly.

"Sounds like there's a bigger problem here," I mumble.

Without turning back, I find my way to the staircase, listening to the screams of desperation with every step I take upward. The closer I grow to my room, the more distant the cries become. My eyelids feel heavy as I stammer inside, and I balance myself with the help of the dresser beside the doorway. The space is as dark as I had left it, and for once it is comforting. I collapse onto the mattress, landing on something unpleasant. My hands sweeps beneath my body to pry the girl's arm out from under. I carelessly throw it across what must be her chest before I roll myself onto my side. In the darkness of this room, when listening closely enough, I can still hear her haunting me, as if the woman inside those picture frames had never really left.

I groan, facing the girl beside me. Years ago, I would've felt pity for her, for an innocent female who was destined to be tainted by the presence of heartless men. But now, I feel empty, and the only thing that I am capable of doing is ignoring others. It is better than hurting them, but some may say this negligence is also one of the worst forms of abuse. My eyebrows furrow, my fists clench together, and I roll onto my other side until my back is to her, an action only seen as a sign of my coldness towards this girl and towards the rest of humanity.

I have learned that this is truly the only way that I can live. Putting up these barriers has made me realize that I can be in control, that I can deceive others by being cold. No one knows what goes on in my head and heart late at night, or when I am alone, left to my own thoughts, when my mind races back to the beautiful lost angel on my bedroom walls. No one will ever understand my broken being.

To the rest of the world I am cold and emotionless and lost. To them I am nothing. To them I am truly dead.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Thank you to **LiveBreatheVampires** for editing!

**Analysis:** Damon is a broken person. Around others he is withdrawn, and only finds comfort in being alone in his room where he can be with the girl's photo on the bedroom wall. He doesn't ming being openly empty because he wants nothing to do with people. He's living in his own world...one where only this one girl exists. He hides himself away just to fantasize about someone who is gone, which is heartbreaking, really. Throughout the chapter, Damon does not call Elena by her name. This is intentional...because Damon does not want to see her as a person. It will be revealed Damon's reasons for taking Elena in the first place, but for now it is obvious that he feels nothing around her. Even the way he describes her is rather demeaning.

Thank you for all the love and support! xoxo Ren


	4. To Have

"_**To have faith is to trust yourself to the water. When you swim you don't grab hold of the water, because if you do you will sink and drown. Instead you relax, and float." **__**~Alan Watts**_

**Elena**

If seeing nothing means seeing darkness, then I have truly been forsaken. There is pain here, a murderous torture that has lasted far too long. Slowly, ever-so slowly, a glow envelops my mind, and as if miraculously, I am finally able to open my lids. I can feel fabric beneath the tips of my fingers. I can taste the arid saliva in a ring around my mouth, and hear the chirping of birds in my ears.

It hurts to sit up, but I force myself to comply. The pain radiates from my butt, and I groan as I adjust to the sun blinding my vision. Some time passes before I can clearly register my surroundings. My heart pounds, and my face grows tight with fear. The space is too open, too sunny, too big to ever belong to me. The walls have color, and the curtains far from simplistic. Pictures of a young girl cover the space in a perfect line, her eyes watching me just as the the president has for so long. I snap my eyes down to my legs, covered in green and brown blotches that cause me to gasp in horror.

Beside me there are sheets in a heap from where someone must have been laying. My thighs begin to tremble uncontrollably, and all I can hear are my ragged breaths venting into the air. The cool breeze from the open window tickles my skin for just a moment, but it reminds me that this is not a dream. Finally I jump from the mattress, frantically digging through every drawer and nook I can find. This person, this monster that had been on this same bed will come back eventually. I need to get back home, to my brother, to Caroline, back to Landon.

Tears pour from my eyes between my heavy breaths, and I rummage with more alarm than I could ever imagine. The bottom drawer beside the bed is locked, but my hands cannot help but futilely yank on the handle again and again in hysteria. Who would lock a drawer unless there was something worth seeing inside? I try a few more times until the sound of footsteps in the distance forces me to let go. No. No. This cannot be happening to me, not when everything was so perfect. The floors squeak as I storm toward the door, surprised as the barrier swings open without effort. I burst from the room, but my body slams against a wall, knocking the air right out of me.

Something wraps around my arm. I look. It's a hand. He walks forward, forcing me to step into the room once again. My neck cranes to look up at him, his face so familiar and yet so far from what my lips can manage to say. I scream out, trembling violently, my lungs desperately gasping for the air needed to maintain life. His face is unchanging, like a statue which charges ahead without even looking. I feel the edge of the mattress press into the backs of my knees until my body collapses onto the bed, and he steps back, clenching his jaw so that his cheeks dent.

"Please," I shriek, "Let me go! Let me-"

It is as if I am not here, as if his eyes cannot see me. He turns toward the dresser by the door, pulling one of the drawers open. No matter how long I scream and cry, his demeanor, his expression never changes, not even for a moment. Then I figure it out. The guard. He was the one who had attacked me, the one who had hurt Landon. My hysteria grows like a thick fog until my bones seem to rattle. I check my hand for the ring, but it is nowhere to be found.

"Give it back," I bark, "Where is t-t-the ring? It's mine, you monster."

I attempt to bolt from the bed, but his hand has already found a grip on my shoulder, nearly pinning me to the mattress.

"Do not move until I say." The voice is demanding, yet dead and almost ghost-like.

My pulse resonates throughout me, clicking inside my brain like a timer, as if counting down the seconds left of my life. The man adjusts the picture frame above the dresser that had moved during my desperate escape. His fingers are so gentle as he straightens the wood. For just a moment his face is relaxed, but only for as long as it takes him to fix it. I am exhausted from crying, from fighting the soreness in my muscles. My hair is wild and tangled, with strands glued to my mouth like a messy child.

"Put this on," He commands, chucking a dress against the mattress. "Jenna made it."

I finally find the courage to look at him, at this criminal. The skin of my cheeks have dried into a sticky scum, but I realize just seeing him causes the droplets to resume their positions on my face. His hair is a black heap, and yet in some way it looks intentional, each lock strategically placed. He is only a few inches taller, and through his tight t-shirt, I can see his muscles are tight and apparent. The pigment of his flesh is a slight tan, but his eyes are what compel my attention. They never look at me, and in them there is pain. Somewhere in them there is a man that I cannot see, one I never want to know. He is a monster. That is all.

"P-please," I whimper, "W-why w-w-would-."

"Dress quickly. Do not test me," He spits, moving toward the door.

As he disappears out the threshold, I sob again. It hurts as the shock melts away, when all that is left is the anguish he has caused me. I am completely and utterly afraid of him, and I cannot bear the thought of disobeying his words. I scramble to put the dress on while the girl on the wall continues to watch me, even as I shakily try to remove my soiled skirt. With every breath my chest shakes in despair. This cannot be happening, not to me. When the fabric is in my grasp, I throw it with all my strength toward the picture frame, knocking it off the hook until it is swinging on its side.

"Mom," I warble, "Mr. Carter. Anyone."

I blank out whilst attempting to pull the dress on. It is a floral pink with short sleeves and hangs mid-thigh. It is so scandalous and sinful that I nearly hyperventilate looking down at my exposed flesh. My cheeks flush in humiliation, in fear of others seeing me. I feel my stomach attempt to heave out vomit just as the door slams open. His abrupt entrance sends the fluid right back down, almost as if his my organs know to fear him.

"Get up," He commands, "We're going to join the others."

Wearily, I use the bed to pull myself onto my feet before he forcefully grabs my wrist. His legs march down the hallway, dragging me behind him swiftly. I cry out in a plea, but his eyes lock themselves forward. The hallway is long, but open like an endless balcony, and my orbs nervously peek over the railing until I can see the first floor. It is magnificent with wood flooring and more space than I could ever imagine. It is only but a glance as he nearly hauls me down the staircase like an object, almost yanking my arm out of the socket.

I whip my head around wildly in search of an escape, only to clumsily crash into him on the bottom step where he pauses. His grip tightens on my wrist when I try to apologize, and for so long, he just stands still, lips pursed in anger.

"Please-"

"You will call me 'Sir'. Nothing else." It is an irrelevant thing to say, but the request sends chills all throughout me.

"O-okay," I comply without protest, "S-sir."

Then without a moment to waste, he tugs me toward a lit room where voices murmur softly. My legs continue to quiver, and my heart is pounding so vigorously that I feel faint. As we enter, faces appear, all turning toward us when the man pushes me into a chair. I begin gasping for air, tears soaking my cheeks once again. This can't be happening. It just can't. The blue-eyed man sits beside me as I cry, staring off lifelessly as he always does.

"We're all here," The woman across from me announces, commencing the silence that comes over the room.

Nervously I shift my eyes up to glance at all the people. The table is long, and I swear there must be more than a dozen silhouettes gathered around it. One girl stands out to me, both her eye sockets bruised and badly marked. She is hunched forward, arms wrapped around her abdomen as she rocks herself gently forward and back. Her skin is a slight brown, her hair a tad darker than mine. The man beside her is loud and confident and untamed. He snickers with the other man to his left, ignoring the obviously distressed girl on his other side. Maybe, just maybe her pain was the result of his actions, and not her own. My stomach clenches in fear.

"Let's go around the table and introduce ourselves. After, we will discuss rules and expectations of our new guests." The man is at the head of the table, the side closest to the way we had come in.

He is obviously one of the more prominent men in charge, older than most of the other males. I am still in a state of shock, and the aching in my buttcheek is only forcing the tears out faster. The battered girl is the one tear-filled person in the room besides me, and her appearance instills even more panic in my blood. Am I next? Will I end up marked like her? I stifle sob after sob, small squeaks slipping every few moments.

"I'll start. I'm Wes. I'll be taking care of any medical attention you need."

He gestures to the woman on his left, who smiles immediately at his introduction. Just as my captor, she has bursting blue eyes and dark hair. Her face is round, but it looks good on her, subtly appealing.

"This is my companion, Josette, but she prefers to be called Jo," He explains whilst patting her head lovingly, "We've been here together for ten years."

Wes sits back down, nodding to the man positioned to the left of Jo. He doesn't rise, but smiles as he begins to speak. He is muscular with a prominent crooked nose, as if it had been broken years ago. His eyes are dark like his hair, and just by the way he sits I can tell that he is conceited.

"I'm Tyler. Liv is new here," He says curtly, nearly rolling his eyes.

The girl he called Liv is silent beside him, but no tears inhabit her bottom lashes. The tight blonde spirals all around her head are wild, framing her light blue eyes and feminine face. She crosses her arms across her chest, possibly with confidence or maybe to defensively protect herself from the vulnerability I know has already poisoned me.

The battered girl is next in line, but her lips do not attempt to speak as another heartbreaking sob ripples through her body. In her place, the cocky brown-haired man stands, scraping his chair against the flooring. He has nice features, but his confidence is sickening, almost pitiful. My eyes click back and forth between the man and the marked girl, forcing my heart to once again gallop.

"I'm Kai. This is little Bonnie. We've been together for how long?" He asks with a spark in his voice.

He reaches his hand down to touch her shoulder, resulting in a warbled cry from the girl. Her lips begin to quiver, her bright coffee eyes wide with anxiety. He laughs as though she's joking, looking back up at his waiting audience.

"She is new to the house, but we're already becoming fast friends," He smirks, finally sitting back down.

The next man, with shaggy blonde hair and blue eyes remains rigidly in his seat, like a child being punished. Wes waits just a few moments before finally ending the prolonged silence.

"That's Luke, everyone." He does not look up, but it shows us all that he doesn't want to be here, just like me, I suppose.

At the end of the table is another middle-aged man, with brown hair and orange undertones. His muscles protrude through the shirt, and his jaw is covered in stubble.

"I'm Alaric, and this is Jenna. We've been here since the beginning. Jenna is here for anyone who needs it." The woman's hair is a dark orange, which borders brown. She looks beautiful and amiable, as if what all these men have done is in good spirit.

Next is a soft-spoken man called Elijah, who seems happier alone than Luke does. Beside him, Jeremy introduces Vicki, who looks sickly with baggy eyes and a wide-set mouth. Jeremy himself is brown-haired and young, maybe twenty-five.

The black-haired man to my right, the one without emotion, looks up as he speaks, but is clear in his articulation.

"I'm Damon. Elena is a new arrival."

Finally a name. Damon. The monster's name is Damon. Even so, the addition of an identity does not make him any less malicious or cruel. Another tear trickles from my eye, and my fists clench. I want to shake him, I want to shake him until he begs himself to let me go. My brother is home waiting for me. I'm supposed to be arranging a marriage, planning a new life with Landon. It hurts so much, it burns right to the very core of my being.

The blonde man on my other side announces himself before addressing the pudgy-faced blonde on his left. He calls himself Matt, the girl, Lexi. She's been here for a while, just as Vicki has. I've figured it out. They steal girls in spurts, in groupings so that it is unsuspecting. My insides crumble in disgust, and I burst out crying, snapping all heads in my direction. I feel that I am hyperventilating, yearning to explode from the anguish I feel in this room. Wes speaks above my wails, while Damon continues to ignore me altogether.

"We'll serve dinner now." He directs the older women to begin serving, but I can't see them through the blur of my vision. The tears are too thick.

A plate appears in front of me, but the wet droplets decorate whatever it is I will be forced to consume. The food looks unfamiliar, strange, almost unearthly. Liv stabs at the brown slab in the middle, recoiling her hand nervously when the fork touches it.

"W-what is this?" I sniffle.

The smell causes me to gag when I lean down to observe the meal. Pink liquid leaks from it, and I cringe. There is greenery to the left side of the plate, something I can honestly recognize.

"Meat," Matt tells me when Damon decides I am not worth answering.

"Meat?" It is a strange word, one that I've never heard.

He half-heartedly chuckles, using the knife in his other hand to slice the slab open. My face grows tight, and a chill runs up my spine in pure horror. No. No. The inside looks like diluted blood, like Caroline's knee when she scraped it as a child.

"It comes from a cow," He finally explains, stuffing a massive piece into his mouth.

I feel paralyzed, the fork weighing too much for my trembling fingers to hold. The room begins to spin as I watch each person ravenously consume their food. What is this place? Could this truly be the underworld?

"What does that mean?" I shakily ask.

"We killed the animal. This is the corpse," He says nonchalantly.

I drop the utensil, gasping for air and trying to grab the chair under me for support. Never in my life had I heard of such things. My diet in Pryhaven had only come from plants, from the fields in which we grew them. Here, they killed an animal, they took away their right to live. For their own selfish gain, they murdered a sentient being, and the bastards looked into her eyes as they stole her last breaths. The room blurs, and instead of blood, I spill tears. Onto the carcass, I spill tears of suffering, of pain, and of complete understanding. Back in the city our food was grown, not born. I was raised in a world where life was honored, where all earthlings were equal.

And so I related to the cow. Her life had been taken, her fate decided for her. She came into this world for her own reasons, reasons we may never understand, but we took that from her. Just as these men had taken my life, they had taken hers, too. There was no understanding, no love, no empathy.

They were hypocrites. They left Pryhaven because others threatened their freedom, but in exchange, they did the same. Just because they could, they did. I was a weak girl in an alleyway. I was easy to take, and so this man did. He saw me, and believed without fault that I belonged to him. It is completely and irrevocably unfathomable. Because the cow could not fight back, because her voice was silenced, he took her too. They say that the innocent are humanity's favorite victims, the easiest to break. How could I take another moment in this place? How could I possibly bear it?

"In this house we expect the girls to handle the cooking and cleaning. The men work out in the fields where our main food supply sits. As you see, there are no children here, and we've made sure of that. Some day, maybe, but for now we need to handle-," He stops when I finally cry out in hysteria, gripping my chest.

Damon immediately stands, grabbing me from behind. Eyes again remain on me as he plucks me from the seat, lifting me from under my arms. I fight against him, begging for my freedom. His breaths trickle down the exposed neck of the dress, reminding me of the demon I must escape. I forget to swallow, and so I begin choking on it as I cry, drowning in my own despair. My fists slap and hit him again and again only to meet the stiffness of his muscled chest.

Other men rise from their seats to help, and they follow, steps behind as Damon drags me toward the staircase. My shoes scrape the floor, counteracting the man's strength. He sets me down on the first step to reposition his hands, but I take the opportunity to bolt toward the door. I have to go home, I have to. He charges behind me, and in my hysteria I stumble into a table, jamming my hip on the corner. I grab the front door, thrusting it open and scrambling outside.

Arms grab me once again, like vines tying themselves around me. I cry out again, falling to my knees in defeat. The feeling of skin tearing hits me, just as brutally as Damon's capture. As before, he secures his arms around my body, tugging us back into the house. My chest heaves, but I allow him to carry me without a fight, blood dribbling from the wounds.

"I'll take care of it," He grumbles to the other men as he hoists my body up the staircase.

I feel myself slipping from his hold, the fabric chaffing my waist. I fight again. Those words. Take care of what? What is going to happen to me? Bonnie. I am next, the bruises will soon cover my eyes.

"I-I'm sorry. I am so, so sorry," I stammer in a frantic yearning.

He ignores my pleas, taking the last step up to the second floor. My legs slump to the ground as he pulls me through the hallway. I can hear the men still chattering downstairs, their words doing nothing to comfort me, and before he pulls me into that horrid bedroom, I hear one last thing.

"She's gonna get it," Someone laughs.

My heart stops, for an entire second the pulse resounding through me pauses. My body meets the mattress before I can repeatedly beg for his forgiveness. He is going to kill me. I am going to die on this bed, like that cow. Soon, my meat will be on their plates. Me.

I buck my hips, and slam them down against the bed in panic. For so long, I scream and bang my hands as if the man is holding me down, but he's not. I stop my cries long enough to search the room, realizing far too late that he's standing in front of the picture above the dresser, just as he had earlier. I shakily sit up, wiping my snot-covered face with my arms.

He stands immobile before the portrait that I had taken my rage out on earlier. It is still swinging on its side, and the man just stares at it. When I think he may have fallen asleep standing up, he reaches out to correct the crooked frame. He is so gentle, taking his time until it is perfect again.

"Why aren't you answering me?" I warble, my voice breaking.

The man does not turn back to face me. Maybe he hadn't heard me, maybe he is deaf and I just don't know it. He traces his fingers over the glass, caressing the girl's white cheeks. She looks my age, but her hair is longer than the traditional female scholar haircut. Had she been here since the beginning? Did he murder her, the same as he will do to me?

He turns around, slowly, like the action causes him pain. My breath catches in my throat, but I feel relieved. He looks at me, acknowledging that I am here. His piercing blue eyes stare lifelessly, and as he had done with the picture, he stares at me for a long unexpected moment. I snort back the stuffiness in my nose, distracting myself from his awkward glance. Then without warning, he snatches a drinking glass from the bedside, taking it into his hand and throwing it. Before I can even blink, it shatters against the door of the room, sprinkling the floor with shards. I scream in alarm, but Damon's face remains rigid and unchanged.

"Let's get something straight here," He nearly spits, "I will never love you. I will never care. Never. There will only ever be her. You don't have the right to touch her stuff."

I watch as he clenches his jaw, and I swear I see his eyes glaze over with moisture. The words are stern, almost permanent. My own chocolate orbs grow wet all over again. I am stuck here, with a monster, with a man who wants nothing to do with me. He keeps me trapped here, and yet the very thought of me leaving is a crime in itself. As it has so many times before, my chest begins to ache from the endless sobs bubbling inside me.

"Clean this up," He grumbles through clenched teeth.

"Yes, s-sir," I sob in defeat.

When I open my lids to look at him, he is gone, his hands no longer cradling the girl's face. He murmurs under his breath from inside the bathroom, something inaudible to my ears. I throw myself back against the mattress until all I can see is the white ceiling. It stares back at me, so plainly, so quietly. In some ways it's almost peaceful. It reminds me of the bland walls of my room back home, of the life I lived only a day ago.

My mother told me white is pure and good and heavenly. So if seeing white means seeing heaven, then somewhere in this place there is hope; hope of leaving this hell before I turn into what Damon has become.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Thank you so, so much to **WhyWeWashTheWindows** for editing this chapter for me!

**Analysis:** Physically, Damon hasn't touched Elena. Even when he dragged her to the bedroom, he did not pull her hair or slap her. There is somethign to be said for that. It does not make anything that he has done right, but it's a step up for sure. Another thing is the food. Elena grew up in a place where their diet was plant-based. Here, they raise animals for slaughter alongside their vegetation. Remember that what society teaches us is what we choose to believe. In Elena's mind, killing an animal is the cruelest and most disturbing thing imaginable. Also, poor Elena repeatedly freaks out because she is so upset about her fate. Being stuck with Damon, a man who treats her as a ghost, and knowing that her life is waiting for her back home in Pryhaven is tearing her apart.

I hope you enjoyed! xoxo Ren


	5. To Hold

"_**To hold happiness is to hold the understanding that the world passes away from us, that the petals fall, and the beloved dies." ~Amy Bloom**_

**Damon**

Elena is not the first. There was a girl, years ago, who had stolen my heart. Her face still hangs on the walls of my room to comfort me, and no matter how much time seems to pass, I can't bear the thought of letting her go. I suppose after eight years, I grew tired of thinking about Verity. She haunted me, and in even in my dreams she would leave me all over again. Thus, I risked everything to replace her, trying not to be too optimistic when I returned to the city, but that day changed my life. Regan was special, destined to be with me, destined to be taken away by a prince.

This girl was the furthest thing from mediocrity. She had character and grit and an endless kindness, even after all the cruelty others had shown her. For the first time in my life, my heart would race in a person's presence, my face would grow pink, and I would be forced to only look at her, into those hazel eyes. For the first time in my life, I was in love, and that love was with someone that others chose to patronize. The sight of her legs distracted them, it coaxed them to judge and laugh and hate her. So for the sake of their own fulfillment, others belittled the very soul of a human.

Just as with Elena, I had stolen Regan. Like a bicycle, I plucked her from her home, and I am not even sure I had noticed her legs when I carried the girl in my arms, too enveloped in the adrenaline of my crime. The chloroform-soaked rag had knocked her out cold, and as I ran toward the field, I gazed at her petite mouth, like that of a doll's. Before I even knew she was different from others, I wanted her. Before I could even judge, I knew she would steal my heart.

Only a few minutes into the rough hike up the mountain did I hear Kai snort behind me.

"She's a cripple?" He laughed, gesturing toward her wiry legs, both cradled by metal screws and industrial strength plastic.

I had dropped my end of the gurney, pouncing toward him until my fingers secured around his neck. The pipe of his throat creaked beneath the grip, and his lungs gasped frantically. So much anger possessed me in that moment.

"Don't you ever say that-" I hissed with clenched teeth just before Wes pulled me off the fucker.

Never had my insides heated up at another person's words. These words were not for me, but rather Regan, yet I felt them ricochet through my body as if they had been. It hurt. To judge a person solely on the idiosyncrasy of their life showed the dearth of humanity in their hearts. For the first time, I fought for someone other than myself, someone whose voice was silenced.

When I set her on my bed, her face was still in a peaceful slumber. My eyes skimmed her body, fixing themselves on the braces which encapsulated her legs like socks. I touched them, gasping at the coldness of the plastic. She was petite, with skinny legs and a short frame of only about 5' 2". I kneeled beside the bed to remove the orthotics, swirling the pad of my thumb over the straps. Maybe I had done it to keep her from escaping, or maybe out of complete empathy, as if they were causing her pain. My touch was so gentle as I lifted her legs from those confinements. Blood still pooled from the laceration of her rear end, and so I quickly changed the bandage.

Hours later, she woke up, disoriented and crazed as any person would be. The girl did not even notice my presence from across the space, and so she moved her legs to dangle from the bed. She paused just moments later at the realization that her braces no longer hugged those skinny calves.

"You're awake," I spoke from where I stood.

She turned to me, fearless, tears brimming.

"How could you?" She cried, "How could you take them from me? They are my only way of walking."

It was the oddest thing she could have said. She wasn't upset that she had been abducted, or that a deep gash marked her flesh, or the fact that there was a strange man in the room. No, she questioned why I had stolen away her braces. It took me aback for a moment, realizing that she was right. I had taken her freedom. Because her freedom was so easy to steal, I did it, and without even thinking. For others, walking is an inalienable right, but for Regan it was a battle, a fight, a war with her body. I took that from her.

"I-I'm sorry," I whispered in shock, more of a question than a statement.

She turned away from me to cry when the tears finally cascaded down her cheeks. As she did, I moved to the drawer where I had placed them, before taking the braces to where her body teetered on the edge of the mattress. Again I kneeled in front of her, moving the straps away until I could gently set her leg into each brace. She sniffled slightly, only to stop when she realized what I was doing. There she sat watching me, with a soft face and the smallest upward curve of her lips. I took my time, securing the straps with precision and care. Then I slid her shoes over the smooth plastic of her feet until she could plant them onto the wood.

"Thank you," She said in a breathless gasp.

Her eyes swept up to look at me in surprise. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. That smile was genuine and pure and absolutely breathtaking. Tears once again brimmed along her lashes, but they were accompanied by a smile. I reached my hand out to her, and she took it with ease, before standing. Her legs wobbled slightly, and her other hand snatched my arm for balance. There was so much trust, so much need to hold her up.

"Is there a garden here?" Regan asked.

Again, it was an odd question, but I simply nodded.

"May I see it?" Her face began to light up.

With her hand in mine, I walked with her. Her gait was abnormal, and it seemed she walked more with her hips than her thighs, but she had found a way to maneuver herself in an inaccessible world, and so I did not mind. The stairs were the most difficult for her, and she asked to walk on the side with the railing for balance.

"I can carry you, if you want," I finally told her at the bottom of the staircase.

"Y-you don't mind?" She asked eagerly, as if such an offer could only be a sick joke.

From there, I lifted her into my arms to carry her outside to the garden. She was light in my hold, and her ribs were pressed so firmly against me that I could feel the pulse of her blood flicker. Those dark blonde locks draped over my arm, soon meeting the breeze as we stepped outside. Her orthotics would click together with every step, dangling in the afternoon sun. Regan's eyes were closed, and a small smile came to inhabit her lips.

I found out later that her parents had locked her away, far from the outdoors and from others. Never had she felt the wind ripple against her or the feel of the sun beating down on her skin. They had locked her away like a prisoner because she wasn't good enough. They believed no one could accept her, and so it was okay to treat her as though she didn't exist.

For an hour, she laid in the grass, cradled in the earth's wispy hairs, and tears leaked down her temples into the dirt while she counted her breaths softly. I watched her from where I sat, in awe. That was the moment I knew I had found someone like me, someone who had been denied freedom all their life and finally understood what liberation felt like. She immersed herself in it without shame, without guilt or fear. I didn't even know her name, but she didn't need one. She was joy, happiness, hope, and amity.

At the dinner table that night, I pulled out her seat for her. She smiled as she sat, but the others took a second glance, knitting their eyebrows together at her presence. I did everything I could to show them that she was mine, that what made her so different had made her so right. Throughout the meal, I passed her dishes, whispering each recipe and watching her jokingly cringe at the green beans. Everyone stared at her for so long. Maybe she had become accustomed to others curiosity, but I could see it in her face that it hurt, even if only on the inside.

"You look beautiful tonight," I turned to tell her, reaching down for her resting hand.

She craned her neck to look at me questionably. I nodded and lightly rubbed her palm with my thumb. Instead of dropping her head in shame, she lifted it high and proud. Again, that look of awe rested on her lips.

"Really? You really mean it?" She choked. "No one has ever said that to me."

"There's a reason," Tyler laughed. "Freak."

As if a bullet had embedded itself into her ribs, her face melted into sadness. She took it, she embraced the bullet, even as her heart bled. I pounded the table with my fist until the entire thing shook violently, resulting in a cacophony of screams and gasps from the others.

"What the fuck? Why would you say that to her?" I barked, "Why would you hurt her like that?"

Regan shook my pant leg until I looked down at her sitting frame. Tears erupted, but she spoke so clearly.

"He's right." Before I could even stop her, she moved toward the door, hers legs stumbling, but with so much ferocity that she had disappeared into the void of the hallway within seconds.

I turned my eyes back to Tyler, who confidently leaned back into his chair. My jaw clenched so tightly that my teeth squeaked against each other. Everyone was silent, but each was thinking exactly what Tyler had said.

"You expect us to believe that you're happy with her?" He cackled, "She's crippled, useless, broken. She's not even that pretty."

With that, I grabbed every dish I could reach, chucking each one right at his face. Spaghetti covered him, the shards of the plate nicking his cheeks. Wes tried to calm me down, but he was just as guilty. He did not stand up for Regan. He allowed it. Why? Because even he believed that her purpose in this world was to entertain others, to be some city attraction.

"She's a human being." My voice cracked with emotion. "One of the few good ones."

I returned to my room soon after. She was curled up on the bed, the braces thrown on opposite sides of the space. I didn't even know a human could tuck themselves up so tightly, like a flower bud waiting to blossom. So softly she cried, my heart breaking with every sob. Once at the edge of the bed, I looked down at her tiny body before moving to envelop it, to spoon her in my warmth. Her cries grew, but when I began to recede, she grabbed the arm resting over her waist, as if to keep me there. It only took her moments to roll herself until her face was buried into my chest, and she fell asleep against me, her hot breaths venting through my shirt. I promised myself that night that I would never stop fighting for her, that I would be her voice.

Regan soon became my priority. I walked her downstairs each day before I left to work in the fields with the other men. The women were welcoming, but it was forced, and both Regan and I knew it. After a long day of working, I would come back, and there'd she be folding laundry or ironing. Her face would light up when I appeared, and I would kiss the top of her head as she finished her task. I smelled of sweat and dirt, but somehow Regan would embrace me anyway, as if no amount of time with me would be enough. I would walk her hand-and-hand up to the bedroom, where we would chat about our day and nap until dinner.

She would tell me about her parents, about the facility they had sent her to in order to 'fix' her. Those days she reminded me of her dreams, the same dreams everyone harbors inside themselves. She would thank me. Again and again she thanked me.

"I've never felt as free as I have here," She told me one night.

While time passed, I grew so close to her. I would hold her as we slept, and rock her into a slumber like a fragile child. In the daytime, I expelled my anger in the fields, but when I was with her, I was so gentle, so at peace. For the first time in a long time, someone understood me.

I finally kissed her on the night when the moon was the fullest and brightest it could be. Regan had fallen to the floor in the hallway, and with tears in her eyes, I carried her to the bed. Her legs throbbed from the accident, quivering against the mattress. I held her, pushing her dark blonde hair from her face. The pigment of her skin was an angelic ivory with a rosy jewel undertone that gave a natural blush to her cheeks. Those hazel eyes were the most prominent of her features, wide and animated, which guarded her button nose and plump heart-shaped lips.

"I think I love you," I whispered into her ear.

As always, her eyes perked up before craning to look at me.

"No one has ever loved me," She mournfully mumbled, resuming her cheek on my shoulder.

My heart raced at the thought of our lips touching, but I had to feel them. Carefully, I curled my fingers beneath her chin, and led that sweet pout to mine. The rhythm of my heartbeat changed that day, because of Regan. I felt wet droplets splash my face as I massaged her lips so softly. My hands moved to entwine in her hair, to bring her closer to me, and I pulled away for just a moment to tell her something I had kept locked up inside for so long.

"Regan, you are the most perfect individual I have ever known."

I moved my arms to wrap her chest until my hands rested on her shoulder blades. My fingers massaged her as I nipped at her plump lips. When I pulled away, I yanked her against me, and her braces clicked together like bells signaling the time.

"How? When everyone has hurt me," She begged.

"People are not loved for the way they look. They are loved for the melody their heart has learned to play," I tell her softly. "Without our bodies, we are nothing but what is left behind. Don't ever lose that. Don't ever let anyone touch what's inside you."

The first night I saw her naked, she stood changing by the writing desk between the two windows of the room. I waited near the doorway, leaning against the wall until she noticed me. Regan covered herself when I cleared my throat, but what I had seen just moments prior was too exceptionally beautiful to be unseen. I stepped closer, and as I did I read her body like a map. My fingers began to caress her cream-white arms until they dropped to her sides, and she peered up at me sheepishly. I could hear her breathing hitch, and a single tear plummeted from her right eye. I reached out to brush it away.

"Don't cry," My lips hummed, "You're making my heart pound from how beautiful you look."

So that she could feel it pulsate against her palm, I pulled her hand up to my chest. She smiled, and nodded as if she understood just how much she could do to me.

"I've never loved anyone," She whispered, "But I-I think I love you."

My hand cupped her cheek, holding it until I could lean down.

"Let me remove any doubts you have," I breathed, capturing her lips.

That night, we made love. My hands trailed her flesh until Regan would shout out in laughter, pulling away from my kisses to chuckle. I sat her on the edge of the mattress with care, and tickled her pale belly with my lips as I removed her orthotics, one by one. She closed her eyes as she laughed, and the action shook her abdomen beneath my mouth. Once finished, I lifted her until she wrapped her skinny legs around me, arms clinging to my neck. My hands skimmed along her protruding spine, pausing at the odd sensation my fingers observed.

"That's where they tried to fix me," She whispered.

I peeked over her shoulder as far as I could see, and so appeared the long pink scar centered down her back. Little dots lined either side, the place where each stitch had been knitted into her flesh. The sight caused me to hold her tighter and longer than most humans would ever want. I could feel her tears again, but I hushed her, stroking her hair and swaying us back and forth.

"There is nothing that needs to be fixed," I soothed her. "You are not broken, Reg."

She raised her head to meet my gaze, smiling subtly. Her lips met mine with a gentle mesh, and she stroked my jaw with her thumb. There on that same bed, I sprawled her bare silhouette, never letting go of her, not straying from her eyes even for a moment. Between each kiss I removed an article of clothing from my body, Regan's cheeks flushing in embarrassment. Silently I guided her hands to rest on my naked chest, so that she could know that it was okay to touch me.

"I'll take care of you." Her jaw loosened at the words, but those cheeks remained a crimson rose.

I distracted her with kisses and a soft kneading of her shoulders as I removed my jeans, but I could feel her tense at the sound of my zipper opening. I soothed her again and again, reminding her that I was hers. Every touch caused her heart to jump, her lungs to gasp in surprise. She had been hidden away from the world for so long that even human touch felt different to her, almost unfathomable.

With Verity it had only been about sex, about releasing our animalistic instincts that we felt as teenagers. Never had I been so gentle nor begged for the experience to be endless, because with Regan, I felt changed and transformed and wanted. She allowed me to kiss her breasts because I was the only person she had ever known who accepted her. She allowed me to touch her scar as if my fingertips could absorb the pain that still lingered, because I was the only one who had ever offered to take it away. Because only I could give her the freedom she deserved, she gave me everything, and ultimately unleashed her soul to me.

People believed that her insufficient legs made everything about her broken; her mind, her dreams, and even her heart. They believed that she did not have the capacity to feel or to kiss or to love or to comfort. That night she showed them all to me, and in return I showed them all to her. She trusted me so strongly, opening her legs to hold my hips with a smile, and not with fear. Even when I cupped her between her legs she grinned, closing her eyes, and allowing me to love her in whatever way I knew how. I pressed my fingers firmly against her, massaging the moist warmth until her mouth would hang open in paralysis.

For Regan, her condition had side effects. The nerves were wired differently, some weaker than usual. It took more time to find her pleasure spots, and it broke my heart when she told me it wasn't worth it, that I was wasting my time. Against her request, I touched her, slowly and meticulously until her body reacted. Her favorites became her fingertips and just a patch of skin at the apex of her thigh. I suckled her digits, simultaneously swirling the sensitive spot upon her leg. It drove her crazy with desire, the same way I felt just watching her.

But something more serious accompanied her predicament that night. She had urinary incontinence. She struggled with knowing when to empty her bladder or how to understand her body's signals. Others would deride Regan for something not in her control, and they would believe her life was not worth anything, not if she peed the bed, or if she couldn't reach a bathroom in time. To me, it was not her curse, but rather something that made her stronger. All those years, she tried to hide her struggles from others until she met me, until she could finally be herself.

I passionately kissed her as I wrapped my arms around her ribs, whispering against her breath.

"If you were offered to be able to feel me inside your body, would you accept?"

She peeled her eyelids open to gaze up. The fingers of her right hand combed back my raven locks in a sweet gesture, and she studied my face so intensely before smiling.

"I couldn't imagine any gift greater than that," She breathed.

"And if I could give that to you now?" I proposed.

Regan chuckled, nodding her head insistently. She thought I was kidding at first, but then she paused seeing the seriousness in my expression. I gestured my confirmation through a gentle grin, reaching beside me to hold the thigh that cradled me.

"I trust you," She hummed, lifting her head to kiss the tip of my nose.

Again, I massaged her body until her cheeks grew another shade of pink. She stroked my back, tapping the crowns of her fingers against my muscles. I pushed my hips forward until my manhood slid inside her, with care, and together we gasped, panting against the mouth of the other. She stared up at me, stuck in another universe where time slowed to the point that each of her heartbeats would pulsate for minutes, and not seconds. The tears leaked from her eyes.

"I can feel you," She cried with joy.

I kissed away the salty droplets, watching her relish in the gift she thought she would never know. Slowly, I moved myself back and forth inside her, so cautiously and steadily. A wave of hot liquid began to seep around my penis, against my pelvis, and down to the sheets, an unexpected sensation at the time. Regan's face soon turned to panic and shame and fear, and she began to sit up, trying to move away from me, even as my body was locked inside her.

"I-I am so, so sorry," She warbled, "I did not-"

My arm nearly anchored itself around her, pinning her against my chest. She craned her face so that I could not reach those sweet lips or even see into her eyes, and it hurt so much to watch her hide herself away.

"It's okay," I preached honestly, "Regan, baby...don't you dare apologize. It's okay."

I gave her a few moments to pull herself together before moving my hand to hold her cheek. She glanced at me with her pink-rimmed eyes and tear-stained cheeks, sniffling softly.

"You'll have to do a lot more than pee on my body to get rid of me." Regan tried not to smile, but she had to admit that it was true.

Everyone imagines sex to be so effortless, so faultless, but in truth, it took hours, and we talked through most of it. It wasn't this silent event where we each read the other's mind and knew just where to go next. Things went wrong, and we laughed and experimented and joked. Regan just wanted to be near me. She did not even know what intercourse entailed, and yet she didn't care, because she wanted me to show her...because I had earned that honor.

"I've decided, Damon. I do love you," She laughed, reaching both hands up to hold my face.

I was pulled down to her on the mattress, until every inch of me touched her, those plush breasts pressing to my chest. When we were finished, I gave her a contraceptive pill, just one out of the nine tablets in the box that Wes had given each couple. It would be one of the last times we would ever make love, one of the only pill she would ever swallow on this green earth, and all because of me. Regan died, kicked the bucket, passed away, perished, and left me. No matter how I say it, she's not here. Because of me, she withered, the same way the flowers do when they are neglected, when no one bothers to love them anymore.

But I did love her, more than any human had ever loved another, to the point that maybe that love was too great for her body's capacity, and so it could no longer handle its depth. Every day I pray that that is the reason...that I had given her too much and not too little.

* * *

**Author's Note:** I consider **_The Greatest Bastard by Damien Rice_** to be Damon and Regan's song. It was played on TVD, but the lyrics seriously describe everything Damon feels about her passing, and the guilt that still consumes him.

Thank you so, so much to **WhyWeWashTheWindows** for editing this chapter so quickly!

Regan= Ray-guh-en slurred into simply Ray-gen

**Analysis: **Damon is angry at the world because the government killed his brother, Verity left him, his friends treated Regan cruelly, and he feels her death is his fault. Sadly, Damon has experienced so much pain, a lot of it coming from others' treatment of him and the people he loved. For the first time in a long time, someone's presence made him feel whole again. That's why Regan is such an important character in this story. He loved that she was unique. For Regan, Damon was her hero. He took her away from a place where her parents locked her up, and where people treated her like a disease (not uncommon in a totalitarian society). Damon gave Regan her freedom in the end, but losing her killed a part of him in return. He still hates his housemates for their treatment of Regan, which is understandable. Ultimately, he doesn't want Elena to replace her, or for her to even try.


	6. To Know

"_**To know, is to know that you know nothing. That is the meaning of true knowledge." ~Socrates**_

**Elena**

Once the glass is cleared from the floor, I dare not move from the edge of the bed. The sun has set hours ago, and I can feel my eyes begging me to sleep, but nothing in this world has ever scared me more than him. My will is not strong enough to test his unstable mind, nor call out his name in question. There is a steady rush of pain pulsating from the bloody gashes on my knees, still embedded with dirt and gravel. I sigh, tired of waiting and crying.

Eventually the bathroom door clicks open, nearly startling me out of my drowsy state. He saunters over without any sort of acknowledgment. I stand up just as he sits, I suppose out of complete fear. I'm not sleeping in this bed with him. I can't, I just can't. My body is growing stiff with anxiety as he begins to undress. I stumble backwards.

"I'm not sleeping on the bed with you," I mutter, "Not with you."

There is no reaction. Again, I am just a ghost to him, a voice that a person hears in the dead of night when the wind blows just so. Suddenly, I find myself gripping the wall as my legs tremble. His back is bare and his jeans sit unethically low on his hips. I begin to pant. The waistband descends toward his ankles until his toned flesh stares back. My cheeks have filled with piping hot blood, and a whimper escapes me so softly that I almost don't notice. His muscles are so firm, the contour of his butt like sculpted stone.

When he bends forward to grab something, I clamp my eyelids shut, bringing my quivering hands up to my face. Somewhere in that time, the lights are extinguished, and I can hear him wrestling with the sheets. I stand against the wall in the pitch blackness of the room, each breath so shaky that I can hear the creaking of my stuffy nose. So carefully, I begin the journey back to the bed, to the unoccupied side that I have sat on for hours whilst waiting for my captor to return.

I listen to his steady breaths and observe the way his body teeters on the edge in the small beam of moonlight leaking through the window. Even in his sleep, his hands are clenched just as firmly as his jaw. I am so cautious with each of my steps, with every movement of my body, nervous to wake the sleeping beast who is waiting for the kill at any moment. I snatch a pillow, setting it onto the cold floor below. I shiver a little, trying to grab at something to wrap myself in when I realize the frigid draft, but to no avail. The demon sprawled across the mattress has stolen any chance of a makeshift blanket.

I lower myself to the cold wooden flooring, wrapping my arms around myself for warmth. My eyelids instinctively shut, but I can't sleep now. The floor digs into my sore butt where someone had sliced it open, and the pain is incredibly distracting. As each moment ticks by, the temperature seems to drop until I am physically shaking. Tears spring from my eyes when I realize I have to make a decision. Could I sleep in the same bed as a man, one who stole everything from me? I have to save myself for Landon. My bed is only for him.

No longer able to handle the conditions of the floor, I slowly crawl beneath the sheets of the bed with a gasp of relief. It is so warm, and as guilty as I feel, my body relishes in the gift of heat. Damon's soft snoring reminds me to scoot closer to the edge, as far from him as possible. For some time, I weave in and out of consciousness, until finally my mind shuts down out of utter exhaustion. It is peaceful for the first time in so long, like I am floating on a cloud.

"Get up," Someone commands.

I open my eyes within seconds, only to meet the harshness of the room's lighting. Outside the window, it is still dark, and I groan in frustration. I could not have been asleep for more than four hours. Damon is already dressed, pushing a hand through his dark locks, with a glass of water in the other. In the distance, footsteps pound and voices meld into one long murmur. Everyone is already up except me. My eyelids burn in displeasure at the abrupt disturbance, and I nearly whimper at the thought of moving.

I hesitantly sit up, holding the sheets to my chest as if to hide myself from him. The man walks back and forth, grabbing things off of the desk and then thereafter the dresser, without much thought. I watch him with a single tear dispensing itself from my right eye. Then when he grabs at the door handle, he pauses.

"They're waiting for you downstairs," He mumbles before disappearing.

The new-found isolation is comforting enough for me to breathe fully. I shimmy my way out from under the blankets until my bare legs feel the chill of the air that I feared. Before long, I am throwing a clean dress over my head, a bright yellow just as short and risque as the first. There is a hairbrush in the bathroom with my name written across the handle. Beside it, there is Jenna's. I take the time to clean my battered knees, before grabbing the brush to tame my tangled locks. At this point, I don't even care. All my eyelids want is for me to close them, and yet I know the women are expecting me.

As I make my way down the staircase, I think about Landon. It causes my shoulders to sag, just as my mouth. The women's chattering resounds through the walls of the living area as I step closer. Their faces appear, and many of them smile slightly. Kai is there, too, grabbing his breakfast before walking out. Beside where he had just stood, Bonnie has her knees tucked up to her chest in her chair while she nibbles on some kind of bread. Jenna comes toward me with a plate, and I nearly wince at the thought of another animal carcass.

"I made you a tomato sandwich, Elena. I know how hard this transition must be for you," She says softly.

The plate sits at the table in the same designated spot as yesterday. I nod slightly when I sit down to devour it, keeping my head bowed. Behind me, Lexi hums as she scrubs the plates in the sink, and Jo carries a basket under each arm filled with laundry. I feel my arm tighten around my ribs nervously. Somewhere in me I feel alone, maybe even fearful of everyone, including Bonnie. People are nothing more than enigmas waiting to be solved. Everyone I know or think I know...they're all illusions of what society has made them out to be. Here, people are themselves, even in their darkest forms.

"We'll start by folding laundry, girls. After, I'll assign individual tasks," Jo tells us before she sets the laundry onto the table.

A series of shrill noises grows louder as someone moves nearer to the kitchen. It causes my heart to squeeze in fear until the creature bursts into view. The mysterious earthling is a little boy with big blue eyes like Jo, and a heap of brownish blonde tendrils on top of his head. His cream-colored hands hold a stuffed bear, which he thrusts up toward Jo with a smile. The woman takes it with a giggle, thanking him. I look at her questionably when our eyes meet.

"After you abruptly left yesterday, Wes introduced Maverick to the new guests. He's the only child we've ever had here. We didn't want to introduce him until after everyone was settled," She tells me before reaching down to pick the toddler up.

"He's beautiful," I whisper with a shy grin.

"Say hello to Elena, Mav. Isn't she a pretty girl?" Jo softly speaks.

He nods his head, and for the first time in so long, I cannot help but genuinely smile. Children are an emblem of hope. Somewhere in here there is just that. I don't question his existence. Instead, I appreciate it.

"Hi, 'Lena," He whispers before sheepishly burying his face into his mother's chest.

Jo kisses his forehead and sets him back onto his feet. She hands him the teddy bear when he begins to reach out for it, and the boy smiles, stomping his feet against the floor as he leaves. Jo returns her attention to the laundry strewn across the table, and I take the last few bites of my sandwich before stepping toward the sink where Lexi still stands. She smiles as she takes the plate, continuing to hum a tune.

As we fold the clothing together at one end of the table, Jenna tries to make conversation. She moves Bonnie to sit next to me, possibly because we both look miserable. Liv snickers about something with Lexi, and Jenna and Jo nearly die of laughter about some infestation somewhere on the property. Bonnie keeps to herself, but I glance at her occasionally as if to offer my words. Then before long, when everyone is occupied, she begins to speak.

"I'm Bonnie," She says softly, turning her eyes to me.

"Elena," I say back.

The girl's attention turns to the poor folding job of the pants in my hand. She gently takes it from my grip until she can show me how to correctly package it up into a nice square. We both chuckle at my inability to skillfully handle a simple job.

"Could you two go grab the pins for the clothesline, please? They're right on the back porch," Jenna asks us.

We both nod, and to my surprise Bonnie unravels her body until she is back to a tall young girl with small feet and a visible collarbone. I notice the marks covering her as we rise from the table. Her shoulders are scabbed, and a nasty bruise is partially hidden beneath the fabric on her back. She is so beautiful, I realize. Although battered, her light chocolate skin has a glow to it, which radiates even beneath artificial lighting.

When we reach the back porch she smiles at me shyly. My eyes droop from sleeplessness, and yet Bonnie's are pools of darkness, not from weariness, but rather internal pain.

"I'm glad you're here, Elena," She says softly with a grin.

"W-why?" I ask in surprise.

"Everyone knows that Kai hurts me. They all know that I couldn't fight back with the drugs still in my system, and that I woke to someone yanking my dress off. He didn't even have to hold me down because I was so disoriented anyway. Now when he touches me, my chest physically aches, and he taunts me. I'm going to die here, b-but it's nice to know there's angel preventing this place from burning in hell," She whispers, "You're a good person. I can feel it."

For as long as I have been here, I believed that I had it the worst, but it's a lie. Pain is not a level, but rather a form which can alter into another completely. My pain is of my heart, but Bonnie's is of the soul. She is tortured with her captor's words and callous hands. She is covered in the proof that her life is a living nightmare, because the men here feel entitled, as if morals no longer apply to them, and as cruel as Damon seems, I have yet to know the feeling of his hand meeting my cheek in rage. I have yet to feel my soul be torn apart.

"Bonnie, I-I." The words struggle to escape.

"It's okay. You're here. I like that," She breathes.

"How can he not feel remorse?" I beg, stepping forward until I can hug the frail girl.

She holds me back with so much strength, sighing heavily at the feel of my embrace. I've never felt more helpless before a person, not ever. Pain was never expressed between people, no stories ever shared in the city. Comfortingly, I feel her warm breath beside my ear.

"After he's done using my body, he acts all caring and tries to hold me. He tries to play the good guy, but that makes it even worse."

My arms wrap around her tighter, and she moves to rest her head on my shoulder. I listen to her hysterically sob, in what can only be described as a desperate laugh.

"I've got you," I tell her.

"Thank you," She whispers to me.

* * *

Later, Jo directs me upstairs to collect the bed sheets from each room. I do not complain as I make my way down the hall of the second floor with a laundry basket in my hands. It is quiet here, and the sun is finally shining in the sky unlike the hours before spent in darkness. I start at the end of the hall with a sigh, opening each door to strip the mattresses of their sheets.

Most of the rooms are nicely decorated, with paintings and intricate moldings which line the perimeter. Jo and Wes's room is a beautiful glowing yellow with the day's light. I smile as I look around to absorb it all. There are picture frames on the bed-side tables of the two of them when they were so much younger, and letters they must have written at some point. I begin removing the sheets, even with the pain shooting up my back. It is a reminder of my struggle with Damon only the day before. The thought of him feeds the fire of hatred, and so I quickly try to forget.

Instead, I continue on with my task, moving to the next room. The walls are bare, and clothes are scattered about. I am barely able to maneuver myself toward the bed where the sheets are just as unkempt as the space. The first thing I notice is the red stain of the pillow. My fingers shake when they reach out to peel the cover off. There is so much blood that I can faintly smell the subtle metal odor radiating from the pillow. It is still wet, soaking deep into the fluffy headrest. I gasp, nearly dropping it.

"I think it's best that you leave," A deep voice echoes behind me.

My head swivels to look at him in the doorway. The man steps toward me, and I nod in agreement, throwing the pillow case into the basket before standing. His name began with a J. I can't seem to remember, but just as Damon, he is firm in his words. I stumble as I leave, nearly panting when I taste the cool air of the hallway in relief. How could he hurt a person like that? Tears threaten to escape, but I hold them in. This place is a nightmare, the kind that a person wakes from. I lean against the wall to catch my breath until the same man steps past me toward the staircase. It's not just Bonnie, I realize...it's all of us.

I am quick to slip into the next room, only to notice others already inside. They don't notice me, and so I step back. It's Tyler and Vicky. She had not come down today, and yet no one for a second questioned it. Tyler is Liv's companion, and the man with a J is Vicky's. From where I stand in horror, he has her pressed up against a wall, the straps of her dress resting on her elbows so that her breasts are exposed. She cries out, but he clamps a hand over her bloodied mouth.

"Jeremy is going to kill me," Vicky whines when he loosens his grip.

"You tell him, and I'll be the one to kill you," He growls.

"What about Liv? You h-have her now," The girl hysterically begs.

"I don't like bruises on my trophy. That's why I have you, babe," He tells her before kissing her neck, "There's no other pussy I would rather try to break."

My throat constricts, and I bolt across the hall, throwing the next door open and slamming it behind me. I hold the handle, bending forward to frantically gasp for air. Tears stream uncontrollably, to the point that I cannot even see anything around me. I drop the basket before allowing myself to join the wicker carrier on the cold floor. The room is beautiful, whoever it may belong. There is an entire wall stacked with books from top to bottom in a colorful pattern with the windows wide open so that the curtains rustle in the breeze. Sweat has collected along my brows, and I wipe it away quickly. I feel I may pass out.

For so long I sit there, until I feel my eyes flutter shut in exhaustion. In my sleep, I hear voices speaking over me, but I am too tired to force them back open. Arms scoop me up, causing my head to fall back as the man carries me. He talks to a woman beside him, but my ears cannot seem to understand. Below me a mattress presses into my back before a door shuts, and I am left in the silence again. In response, I fall into a deeper rest, until dreams of my mother appear. Time no longer registers inside me, and for an interminable length, I am in another world.

_**My brother holds me. He tells me how beautiful I look as we walk toward Landon. Everyone from the community is here to watch us sign the papers of our budding marriage. I remember their faces so clearly. Everything is how it should be, and there are smiles of hope and love and kindness. **_

_**Even as I sign my name, Landon holds my hand just for that extra burst of encouragement. His arm sits around my waist, and my cheeks burn in excitement at his touch. When we walk back home, he holds my hand. He is so gentle with me, pushing my hair back so that he can kiss my neck. The gesture is the greatest affection one can show here. To be kissed on the neck is to say you mean everything, that you are his life now. **_

_**I had never imagined life past that symbolic moment, but maybe my mind is trying to sketch it out. It knows that our clothes will disappear in the isolation of our room. It knows that Landon will see my body, even if I have never taken the time to see it for myself. He may want to kiss the skin, and as Caroline said, maybe move his fingers to places no human has ever been. **_

_**Then out of nowhere there are children, just like Maverick running around the house. Everywhere we walk, there are the smiles of a little girl and a little boy who belong to us. It is beautiful, like everything I have ever wanted. I have the world in my hands. I have life at its most significant, right up until I feel Damon steal me away from him...into the most unfathomable and colorless existence.**_

* * *

When I awaken, a tray of food sits beside me on a bare mattress, and the window has been opened all the way so that the breeze can lift the papers off the desk for just a moment before they resettle. I feel better, and I yawn as I sit up to look around. My stomach agrees to the food, some vegetable salad, likely prepared by Jo. I scarf it down, finding it within myself to return the tray to the kitchen. My eyes are still blurred in drowsiness, but I feel good since my rest.

"Elijah found you on his bedroom floor earlier. He helped me carry you to your room. You looked like you needed the sleep." Jenna is smiling as she washes the countertops, turning her eyes up to look at me.

"Thanks," I say under my breath, stepping forward with the tray.

"I'll have someone put some sheets on the bed," She murmurs as I turn away.

At the table, Jo sits with Maverick cradled in her arms. It takes me a few moments to realize she's breastfeeding him, but I smile. Back home, mothers breastfed their children for as long as possible, upwards of ten years old. It's comforting to see something that reminds me of home. The acknowledgment is enough to make me want to cry, but I have no tears left to shed, and so I just stare with a smile before moving back upstairs.

The room is cool when I walk inside once again. Damon sits on the sheet-less bed, his back turned to me. In the time it took me to mosey on down to the kitchen, the men had returned from the fields for the day. He doesn't notice me for a few moments, but when he does, the man marches past and through the doorway without a word. It makes my heart sink. To simply be ignored is likely one of the harshest punishments of all.

Without warning, my stomach clenches at the onset of a scream in the distance. Commotion erupts within seconds, and I scamper to see what travesty has occurred. I don't even notice who is blocking the door, but I push past them until I am inside. It is Bonnie, who clutches a dress over her bare chest while Damon holds a bloody rag between her legs. A hand comes to cover my mouth to suppress a warbled cry at the sight.

"Would someone fucking get Wes already? She's hemorrhaging," Damon barks, and someone pounds the floor as they run to fetch him.

Kai stands buckling his belt by the window, and his face is red in humiliation. I quickly run to Bonnie, grasping her hand for comfort. She weakly squeezes back, turning her head to look at me. Her eyes cannot look directly at my face, and her body seems to quiver.

"It's okay, Bonnie. I'm here," I sob.

"Elena. Get out," Damon hisses at me.

The cloth he holds against the girl is soaked through with blood, and I see how concentrated his eyes are. For just a moment there is a smidgen of life in him, as if he truly is human under that mask he uses. There is a part of him that feels, that fears for this innocuous being. I silently beg for him to see the humanity in me, to replicate it with himself.

When he notices that I have ignored his command, I feel Alaric grab me from behind, pulling me away from Bonnie. I fight against him, just as I have always fought my captors. No matter how firmly I bash my elbows into his chest, however, the man does not let up. I look at Damon, pleading.

"She's my friend," I scream.

For the first time, his orbs meet mine, but to my surprise they grow more empty. I beg, searching for his compassion, for that spark of life still left inside him.

"Take her out," He states firmly, his eyes following me as Alaric pulls me from the room.

Over and over, I cry out, arching my back to try breaking the man's grip on my body. Before I can even realize it, I am laying across the bed, left completely abandoned by the world once again. My chest burns with anguish, and I groan until my lungs rattle. The door to the room is left wide open, and I am forced to listen to the cries of Bonnie as she fades away.

In just three long strides, I reach the threshold. I slam the door in rage, moving back toward that stupid locked drawer beside the bed. My hands yank at it repeatedly without any success. I try everything to pry the damn thing open, placing every ounce of anger into this task. I hate him. I hate that man more than anything in this world. My arms begin to ache, but I cannot stop. I bash my feet against it, slap at it, claw into the wood. As soon as I find the key, I am going to rip this drawer open and burn everything inside. I am not in a nightmare. Damon _is_ the nightmare. That I have learned.

"I hate you!" I roar, leaning back until my arms are suspended from the metal handle, "I hate you, dammit."

* * *

**Author's Note:** Thank you very much to **WhyWeWashTheWindows** for editing this chapter!

**Analysis: **Elena fantasizes about Landon a lot, not because she's in love, but because the prospect of marriage gives her something to hope for. Where she comes from, people do not marry for love, however, Elena is that schoolgirl who simply yearns to "grow up". Landon is a good looking man with a good heart, and Elena wants that no matter if she knows him deeply or not. It's just not how that works in the city. If a man (often older, such as a teacher) likes a girl, she will likely marry him. Not to mention, any affection Elena receives makes her feel appreciated and needed...and that's all she really wants.

Throughout the chapter, we see the actions of everyday life. Elena befriends Bonnie, who openly admits Kai's abuse. She also witnesses the life of Vicky, who is beaten by her companion, Jeremy, but also by Tyler on the side. Tyler uses her as his whore since she is already battered anyway. That way Liv continues to be this trophy for him, but he still fulfills his need to be in control without it showing. As Elena said, these men no longer follow laws or morals, and they feel entitled to do as they please, including cruelly dominating their girls. Maverick is the only child, and is briefly introduced to Elena.

At the end, Damon has Elena removed from the room where Bonnie is hemorrhaging. I don't believe that that makes Damon a mean person, though. Elena is becoming increasingly enraged at her capture and his treatment of her, but after learning parts of Damon's past his behavior is easier to interpret and relate to. Seeing Bonnie in that helpless state likely sparked some understanding inside Damon regarding Regan.

Thank you so much for the love and support! xoxo Ren


	7. To Confess

"_**To confess a fault freely is the next thing to being innocent of it." ~Publilius Syrus**_

**Damon**

Our lives are nothing more than an invisible struggle that only we can see. I watch the world pass around me without purpose, without reason, and my eyes seem to capture life as a camera would without the film. I don't want to remember anything, not when all things beautiful are ephemeral and all things horrid, interminable. Who looks down at the girl bleeding out and wishes to cherish the moment forever? Who can live my life and see something worth savoring? The blood just keeps coming, smothering my skin in a thick layer of warmth, and voices wildly dance around my ears as Wes frustratingly attempts the stitches again. I am trembling, looking down at the red smears covering my fingertips.

"Fuck," He barks, jabbing the needle in again.

Kai has disappeared along with most other forms of life. I feel my face scrunch as the tears nip at the edge of my lashline. I fight them, but it only augments the desperation I feel to breathe, and so the room soon appears to spin. Wes quickly notices, clicking his eyes up to glance at me.

"Damon, you don't have to stay," The man tries to express, and I nod shakily.

I drop the rag, my mouth hanging open in a daze. A group of concerned faces greet me as I exit the room, their eyes wide and waiting for some reassurance. I walk past them, dazedly stepping down the staircase toward the only place I can truly escape to. I tear at my shirt, until the buttons loosen from the fabric. There is so much aching in my chest, so much pain that has built up in my heart through the years that it just feels heavy, like a weight lodged between from my ribs. On the way out, I grab the book sitting near the door where I had left it.

Clunky boots fumble as I stagger across the open field of grass. The white button-down hangs open, the breeze fluttering wildly against the fabric. Every step grows more desperate until I am nearly whimpering, and my jeans have rubbed my hips like sandpaper. The sky is but a blue ceiling above me, a landscape of color minus the red, like the blood which covers the thin material of my shirt. When I fall to my knees in front of the marked grave, I bend forward to pant, curling my fingers around the grass below. Somehow, my body comes to a sitting position before I cross my legs and take the deepest breath of air. Softly the breeze catches my locks, whipping them around my head.

"I'm late, aren't I?" I smirk, closing my eyes for just a moment.

The wooden marker stares back at me blankly, but I smile anyway, shaking my head. It is a withered brown stick with a long crack down the center from where the world chipped away at it for two years. In this enigma called life, even the earth had a bitter feud with Regan, for some implausible reason that I have yet to understand. That beautiful soul came into this world loved by none, and left knowing only a single person who ever truly did.

"I hope you had a good day, baby. I watered your flowers in the garden…" I begin to drift as moisture cultivates along my lashes, "...I dreamed of you again."

In my sleep I see her, the way she looked the first day in the garden. There is no pain, no fear, and no worry. She is the one to hold me, the one to tell me that it's okay. Only in my dreams can I feel the touch of her hand and the kiss of her lips on my nose. Finally, tears dive from the edge of my lash line, and I nod my head as if to remind myself to hold it together.

"You better be waiting for me up there," I breathlessly chuckle, "You wouldn't believe the person I have become without you. I'm dead. Without you I am dead."

The sun begins to fade behind the clouds until the entire sky is drowned in gray. My chest aches. There is so much I want to say to her, so much I want to admit to. Today, I watched a girl's life almost slip away, an innocent girl like Regan. There is guilt and vivid memories which had swarmed me all too quickly in that room. Again, it was out of my control. Ever since losing her that is all I can crave anymore.

"Am I a bad man, Reg?" My eyes click up toward the sky, but my usual frown remains as sunken as always. "I-I need to feel like I am in control, so badly I do. Too many times I have lost it. I need it again."

A strained sob echoes from my throat. That doe-eyed girl upstairs is nothing more than an outlet for my control, a way for me to feel power over another being. Throughout my insignificant life, I have felt helpless in the times I craved authority the most. Nothing I did stopped Regan from slipping away. Nothing I did stopped Verity from leaving me. Nothing I did changed the fact that the government restrained every right I held from birth. I just need to feel the power again. I need someone to fear me, to follow my every command, to relinquish themselves to the beast I have become.

"Elijah let me borrow one of his books," I smile as I pick it up to smooth back the first page, "It's supposedly about a beautiful girl. Sound familiar?"

I read out the first line to myself before suddenly pausing to think about her, to try imagining that beautiful face one more time. Maybe my mind is too often occupied by a girl who is nothing more than a memory in my mind. Does she recall those moments the same way I do? Did she ever doubt my trust, or for a second believe that I could allow her to die? Too many times I have played those memories out in my head, trying to discover which moments I could have ended the downward spiral of her life.

_**The morning after I had taken Regan's virginity, she was naked against me. There was surely a glow in her cheeks, and an aura of enlightenment surrounding her body. I gripped her thigh until I could pull it to lay across my hip, wrapping my arms around her softly. Those heart-shaped lips moved to my neck, where she sighed with a small grin of contentment. My fingers held the back of her head, and Regan moaned for just a moment. **_

"_**How you feeling, babe?" I asked softly.**_

"_**Sore," She hummed, "It feels different...down there." **_

"_**I'm so sorry." My fingers curled beneath her chin so that her lips were forced to touch mine. "I'll tell Wes to get you something for the pain."**_

"_**You can't cure transitioning into a woman," She giggled before stamping her mouth to cheek.**_

"_**Is that what you are now?" I asked jokingly.**_

"_**Yes, you've made me the luckiest woman alive."**_

_**Maybe I had made her lucky, but in a unique plot twist, I also killed her. My actions took her away from this green earth far too early. She deserved to lay beneath the heated rays of sun, and feel the seasons change, and watch me grow old beside her. Regan had earned that. More than anyone. She brought to this world the love it needed, the compassion each of us should carry. Regan deserved the world, and she lost it in a fleeting moment.**_

"_**I still want to make you feel better," I whispered into her ear after a morning shower and a final removal of the soiled sheets that had sat by the door all night waiting to be taken away.**_

_**My arms supported her body, helping her to slowly tip back flat against the mattress. I kissed her lips, moving my left palm to hold her bony hip while I slid my mouth down her body. Regan giggled, pulling her arms up to shield where she knew I would venture next. I kissed the hands blocking her breasts, soon gliding my hot tongue over her knuckles until she recoiled them in laughter. **_

"_**Damon," She whined in confusion. **_

"_**I'm kissing away the pain, baby," I hummed as I took one of her nipples into my mouth, "Close your eyes."**_

_**Regan gasped at the feel, gripping my shoulder blades with a moan. I allowed my right hand to stroke her sides while my lips did all the work, carefully nipping at the pink buds centered on her breasts before trailing themselves around the bases of the mounds. I absorbed the warmth of her flesh, and closed my eyes to relish in the taste. She arched her back against me, pressing the breasts firmly to my lips. I took it as the opportunity to slide my fingers beneath her until I could hold the curved spine as I worked. **_

_**My lips kissed all the way down her belly before they settled between her legs. Regan grew nervous, reaching her fingers to touch the top of my tousled tendrils. As with me, she wanted at the very least, some degree of control. The gentle grasp on my raven locks was enough for her to feel empowered, as if she could yank my head away at her very demand. With thighs trembling beneath my pout, I kissed the skin with sweet open-mouthed trails until my touch drew dangerously close to that pleasure spot at the apex. **_

_**Regan had only ever known pain, and in those moments I could see the burns on her soul heal over. She entrusted that to me. It was my job to make her love herself, to make her happy, and ultimately, treat the wounds that others had inflicted on her from the moment she was born.**_

_**When I finally stamped my lips against the spot, she cried out in a rumble of satisfaction, rubbing herself on the sheets hugging her bare body. Regan's breaths grew erratic, and every few moments she would whimper my name. She allowed me to massage the area with my meticulous lips which begged to cure whatever pain she felt. Her bony legs slapped me upside the head a few times, but that innocent smile would be tattooed across her sweet mouth whenever I peered my face upward to see her.**_

_**Days later, we both woke to a pool of hot liquid cradling our bodies. She cried in my arms for so long before I stripped the sheets and helped her wash up. I suppose that was the beginning of the end. For days following, we realized how frequently she began to urinate, to the point that I wasn't with her often enough to keep up. Soon enough, the pain came, and in the night she hissed at the endless throbbing near her navel, where her bladder never seemed to feel truly empty.**_

"_**I'm getting Wes," I mumbled, throwing myself toward the dresser. **_

_**After he examined her behind a closed door, he pulled me to the downstairs kitchen to talk. He said she had all the symptoms of a urinary tract infection, splaying the medical dictionary across the kitchen table. I read it, and the light in my eyes seemed to dim just slightly in shock.**_

"_**Have you been sexually active with Regan?" He asked.**_

"_**W-we did once," I whisper breathlessly, "Why?"**_

_**I felt my cheeks tighten, and the pores on my back seemed to drool with sweat. That beautiful night with Regan beneath me was in no way a sin. No evil could ever come from something so breathtaking as our bodies touching. How could it? But the evil came, because I did it to her.**_

"_**When I checked her, I asked if she had experienced the symptoms before. Her answer was yes, but only as a child. You see, the likely culprit was intimacy. The chances of infection increase when sexually active. The cross-contamination of bacteria and the close proximity to her urethra are all dangerous for someone with a urinary condition like Regan's. You do know that she has urinary incontinence, right?"**_

"_**I-I guess I noticed, but...is she going to be okay?" I begged.**_

_**I hated myself for what I had done to Regan. My touch had made her sick. It had poisoned her body without intention. Never could I have imagined hurting Regan, not the way everyone else chose to. But in the end I had. I had done worse to her than anyone ever could with their cruelty. **_

"_**We have antibiotics in the supply room that we can try," He sighed. **_

_**The medication worked, and Regan improved within days, but in those days I hadn't touched her like she wanted. I think she noticed my avoidance, my fear of hurting her all over. Just as any woman would, she thought she had done something wrong. She brought it up a lot, but my silence was enough for her to stop asking. Thereafter, my conscience was in shambles. I treated her like a glass doll, and I drowned her in the same overbearing manner as her parents had for years. She cried when she believed that I couldn't hear her from the bathroom, and told me to my face that she was okay when she believed I couldn't detect her lie. **_

"_**Damon, did I-," She whispered one night in the silence of our room, "Was it because I-."**_

_**She laid tucked up in a tiny package on the mattress, allowing each droplet of salty moisture to trickle onto the pillow. My arms pulled her against me in an instant, until I could be the one to brush the tears away. No longer could I stand to be away from her, and Regan knew it too. **_

"_**I would rather run the risk of my body crumpling into a thousand pieces in your hold than live a lifetime never knowing their warmth," She whispered. "Some risks in life are worth taking, Damon. We both know that. I would have never met you if it hadn't been for risk."**_

_**Of course she was right. Every moment of our lives we make choices, good and bad, but there are days we come to regret some of them. I allowed myself to love Regan, yet even today I still fear it was out of my own selfishness. That sweet smile, those skinny legs and lovable laugh. Was it worth losing those for a touch, for a kiss that led to something more? Was her conviction the devil leading me into sin or was it Regan, the girl who embraced life, just wanting to feel me deep inside her? **_

_**The vomit started first, every morning bright and early. I always promised to stand up for Regan, and so we kept secrets from Wes about her condition, even as I glued the pieces together. The world threatened us both, all because of something rather miraculous and out of our control. There were things I needed to do to save her from the prospect of disappointment, but in the end, maybe I should have let them. Maybe then, Regan could have lived. **_

"_**Babe, don't tell anyone about this, okay?" I hummed against her lips.**_

"_**Why?" She asked in confusion.**_

"_**I will always stand up for you," I smiled, "I won't let them hurt you anymore."**_

_**I lied to the world about what was happening to Regan because I knew what it meant, and nowhere in my soul would I allow them to take it from her.**_

* * *

The sun just barely peeks over the horizon to look at me as I make my way back to the house, book in hand. It is never easy for me to leave her behind, never, but I do it each day because I know I will always return to her. Dinner must be over, I realize, as I trip into the kitchen from the back porch. As always, someone is bickering or complaining. This time it is Jenna feeding Wes a few harsh words. Along the table are Jo, Alaric, Tyler, and Matt. They all look up at me as I make it over to the pot of chicken and vegetables.

"Do something already, would you?" Jenna spits.

"We already talked with him," The man tries to reason.

Jo rubs Jenna's back as her friend argues with the man. It must have to do with Kai, but I weakly listen when I realize just how tired today has made me. I sit down, staring into the bowl as if to concentrate. Jenna's voice grows more upset, more impatient when Wes remains uncontentious. I roll my eyes, scarfing down the food.

"You know it's wrong what he does to her. How can you just pretend it's not happening?" She persists.

"It's none of our business what anyone chooses to do with their lives. We left because we wanted personal freedom."

"Even if it's by hurting others? We're allowing them to do things we tried to get away from."

Everyone's face turns to look at the entrance of the kitchen to see Kai there. His eyes are sore, but he shows no fault in his expression...not innocent nor guilty.

"You just gonna keep talking about me behind my back?" He asks in an aggressive tone.

"Just tell us why you're doing this," Wes says softly.

I watch Kai's face closely, realizing that he is beginning to crack. There is a quiver of his bottom lip, a twitch in his eyelid, and a thick gulp pushing his adam's apple further out. Just a few more moments, and I know he will unravel.

"Yeah, you asshole," Jenna barks, "Explain yourself."

Then it happens, and his arms slam a chair hard against the flooring. It makes a harsh bang that vibrates the room, causing everyone to silence at once. I drop my fork, lifting my entire head to watch my foe snap like a twig before us.

"I like guys," His voice breaks, "Is that what you all wanted to hear?"

Eyes grow wide at his confession, and the space awakens with gasps of shock. As those long talons Kai calls his hands curl around the sides of the chair, tears sprinkle from his eyes. His words morph into a horrid whimper.

"I was supposed to run away with Stefan," He chokes on his own words, "We needed to escape that fucked up government."

I myself nearly choke on the realization of his confession. My eyes snap to Kai, who is smiling between his sniffling. He looks me right into the eyes so that it will hurt me more.

"You happy now, Damon? Now that I admitted that I loved your brother? Yeah...he was just like me."

Attentions turn to me, but I am too shocked to notice. My own brother never told me the truth about himself. He hid it from me out of fear of my condemnation. As he died in my arms, he knew the only world he would ever truly be accepted in was one that was far from here. Only in death, could he truly be free.

"You think people hated you for loving a cripple? Well, people hate me more for loving another man. We're more alike than you thought."

I fight to remain in my seat. The derogatory words that spew from that man's lips enrage me to no end, so much that my pulse gallops. This man loved my brother, and so he felt he needed to belittle Regan out of jealously. He wanted to be himself, and yet couldn't, not even here. His freedom had a limit. No one in this house would ever fully accept Kai, or at least he would only be as "accepted" as Regan was.

"I hid behind Bonnie. I pretended that I felt some attraction to women. All I wanted was to cure myself. I-I didn't choose to be like this," He begged us.

No one moves, nor responds to his plea for mercy. He wants to justify his actions against Bonnie, and in a way he did. In the city, it was believed that homosexuality was a disease, something that needed to be eradicated from society. Kai wanted a cure, something to make him like everyone else, but he knew it couldn't be altered. Maybe his anger on Bonnie was the frustration he felt when nothing worked. He felt he needed to prove to everyone that he liked women. Every day of his life was a lie, a lie in which no one was willing to accept, not even his friends sitting around the table. Kai must realize this soon enough when his eyes turn to Tyler.

"Tell them, Ty," Kai prompts. "We don't have to hide anymore."

Tyler's jaw clenches nervously, and as I've seen before when he is nervous, he pushes a hand through his dark locks to hide his embarrassment. He stands up, shaking his head almost nobley.

"What are you talking about, freak?" He laughs, "I don't fuck men."

Kai grows more frazzled, more fearful of Tyler's denial. He presses his hands to the back of his head, pulling at the hair in frustration.

"Tyler, tell them what we did. Please." I have never seen Kai so vulnerable, so emotional, "I love you."

"Is this some sick fucking joke? Shut up, you fag," Tyler roars, marching toward Kai.

Someone grabs him first. Suddenly, the room fills with people talking over other people. It becomes so loud that no one can hear Wes trying to quiet the unruly group, and when we all look back at the doorway, Kai is gone. Just as everyone had done with Regan, they had torn apart a person for something they didn't voluntarily choose to be. I shake my head in frustration, storming from the kitchen myself with the heavy-ass book in my right hand.

Finally, the air feels clear again, and the silence indescribably peaceful. I stagger up the stairs toward where a nice, warm bed must be waiting for me. There is no more I can take today. Too much emotion, too much attachment to things no longer here. As I come to Elijah's room, I can hear someone with him. I pause, almost tempted to just walk back to my room undetected, but it is too late. I see her in there. The girl who feeds me my control...the girl I stole away. Elijah smiles as he steps toward me.

"I was showing Elena my library," He explains. "How was the book?"

I just nod, thrusting it into his hand before turning on my heels to leave. My eyes skim over the girl sheepishly hiding her nose in a random novel. She fears me. Good. I briskly trot back to my own room, until I can feel the familiar metal of the handle and the warmth of the room which Regan still heats with the stagnant grin scrolled across those picture frames.

* * *

After a bottle of bourbon and a long shower, I seat myself at the desk, digging through one of the drawers for a pencil. The anxiety is getting to me again, a fear of forgetting her every detail. What if I can no longer recall the width of her hips or the subtle cinch of her thin waist? I need to stop this behavior, this compulsion, but I can't. My body demands this. I have tried so hard to put the pencil down before, but it is my drug, another thing that possesses me. Even this is out of my control, and I suppose I am too drunk as fuck to care.

I snap my eyes shut and my breaths quicken as I recall just one part of her, allowing my fingers to replicate the image I see in my mind, even after all these years. A stack of drawings hides beneath the mattress of the bed, all of my sweet love. From her eyelashes down to her tiny toes, I draw each element on its own. When I sketch, I feel her. I truly feel something inside me, a small part of me that is still human. Sometimes if my mind concentrates enough, it's as if I can touch the paper and feel her.

"I'm sorry, Reg. I am just so sorry," I slur in my pathetic state.

The pencil pierces the paper from where I jam the tip down, but my fingers won't stop. I need to feel her. I need my baby back. I need my Regan.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Thank you so much to **WhyWeWashTheWindows** for promptly editing this chapter for me.

**Analysis**: This chapter is all about confessions. Damon admits his reasons for Elena (control/power) because he has lacked it so greatly over the years. That is why Damon commands Elena. He doesn't speak to her, he just commands her. In addition, we learn Kai's reasons for hurting Bonnie (not that his behavior is justified in any way). Kai's relationship with Damon's brother came as a shock to everyone, but Damon also notices Tyler's denial of his current clandestine relationship with Kai as a possible way of escaping the ridicule he knows will come with admitting he is gay*. In addition, we learn about the fall of Regan's life, and the secrets Damon kept from Wes and the others (what exactly, Damon does not explain). We also find out of Damon's unhealthy compulsive behavior after Regan's passing. It has gotten to the point that he cannot stop himself from fixating on her. He blames himself for her death, and cannot stand to let it all go.

*No, none of these characters are gay on TVD. You're not going crazy.


	8. To Punish

**"To punish** **me for my contempt for authority, fate made me an authority myself." ****~Albert Einstein**

**Elena**

It is the morning sun's rays that cast the ghastly shadows onto the wall behind him. A long wire hangs his throat above the room, high enough for his face to be washed out with bright sun. I'm the one who finds the body rocking back and forth slightly like a swing. His pallid fingertips hold a folded paper with deep scratches from where he must have dug his nails in as he was choked. There is too much stuff piled on the dirty flooring for me to notice the chair stacked among the wreckage. My cries draw an endless crowd of people, but not before I stretch my arm to snatch the note.

Many hands maneuver me toward the door, pushing me back like water as they swim to the center of the room. It all happens so quickly that I don't fight the current, and once I am alone in the hall, I move toward Elijah's door with a great sob building up inside me. Bonnie's abuser is gone, and yet he looked like a child strung up from the ceiling. He looked human. Elijah isn't in the room, so as I wait for his return, my feet tap the floor nervously. The paper is clutched to my chest, and somehow it feels warm to me, lulling me into a faint sleep as the murmurs from the hall grow louder. I fall back onto the mattress, my consciousness reaped just as quickly as I hit the bed.

When my eyes finally tumble open again, I gasp. A soft blanket is strewn across my body and a glass of water sits beside the bed with a note balancing on the rim. Suddenly, the fear dissipates and instead, I smile.

**You sure sleep a lot. You're welcome anytime. ~Elijah**

The biggest, stupidest grin carves itself into my mouth, and almost as if someone will catch the spark of contentment, I clamp my hand over it. A sigh leaves my lungs effortlessly, eyes searching the room for some unknown target. My laundry basket is with Kai's rotting corpse, and something about that realization is fulfilling. I can stay here for a while. I can explore this man's books, his life, his room. Still, my eyes seem to gravitate toward the note clutched between my fingers, a brownish lined paper with a faint scent of mildew. I suppose there is an embedded curiosity inside me, anxious to learn the last words of a monster.

I whip the sheet open, first skimming the dark cursive with its wild loops and winding letters. Then finally, I move my attention to the opening sentence impatiently, as if the message will disappear so soon.

_**I don't expect forgiveness. Really, I don't expect much. Maybe an acceptance of what I am, or at the very least, a willingness to hear me out. Firstly, to Bonnie, I am sorry. I want to say that I did those things to cure myself of the abomination I am, but I didn't. Those inexcusable actions were my way of punishing whatever god made me like this. I hope that without me here, you may be able to heal and find a place in this world where you can enjoy the freedom we all have. I used mine for the wrong reasons, and for that, Bonnie, I am irrevocably apologetic. **_

_**To Tyler, my misunderstood little mess, I am sorry to you for leaving without a goodbye. This departure was bound to happen. No bearer of sin can last forever in a world where he doesn't belong. I wish you had had the bravery to stand beside me and hold my hand. I wish you had kissed me right there so everyone could watch. You couldn't find it in you, and in the end it broke my heart. As Stefan knew before us all, the only way out of this hell was through death. Wherever it takes me, may it be a world where I am healed of my misfortune, a world where we can be together and fuck each other's brains out without shame. I love you, Tyler, even if you cannot stand the thought of saying it back.**_

_**For the rest of you, I was not a broken being. Just as with Regan, we hated her out of fear of the unknown, as if somehow accepting her would turn us all into cripples and accepting a fag would turn us all gay. Our fear is the source of true ignorance. I pretended to be someone I wasn't for so long, and even here, in a place of autonomy, I was chained to a wall for wanting to be something the world wasn't ready for. Maybe it is about time we stop judging people for the shit the gods have handed them. For my contribution to Regan's pain, Damon, I am sorry. To anyone who will listen, I am sorry.**_

With my palm over my heart, I feel it pulse rapidly against my skin. There is a dearth of understanding, a thousand more seeds of question planted inside me. The apologies to Damon, to Bonnie, and even to Tyler. They were all connected to this one man's plea for acceptance. I feel my eyes water slightly, but maybe only out of pity for a human willing to end his own life. Finally, I stand up from my spot on the bed, propelling myself toward the door. Bonnie must be in Jenna and Alaric's room, the place they carried her after the brutal procedure only a day prior. Even Wes couldn't agree to the girl being handed back over to her abuser so soon. Now, to Bonnie's relief, she never will.

But the greatest question of all: who was Regan? As I reach out for the handle, a force on the other side of the door twists the knob. I recoil my hand, stepping back as the barrier swings open. It's Elijah with his soft smile and dimpled chin. Just as me, his eyes are a warm brown, and his locks like chocolate. I feel an immediate sense of security around him, and even his room smells of salvation, such a rare delight in this dark, heartless place.

"Elena," He breaths in a light shock, threading his fingers between his hairs. "You don't have to leave if you don't want to. Were you looking for me?"

"Is the g-girl in Damon's room...is that...is that Regan?" I whimper.

Elijah gently pushes me back into the room, clicking the door shut to cut us off from the world. He looks pensive, almost as if he has to question it to himself. I feel the warmth of his hand come to rest on my shoulder, his face peering down slightly to look at me square in the eyes.

"She was his first girl here," He says just barely loud enough for me to hear, "There were some things with Regan's legs that made it hard for her to walk, but Damon loved her. I mean, really loved her. That's all I can tell you. He doesn't like people talking about her."

I nod, tears trickling down my cheeks. "He hates me. I-I just wanted to know why," I sniffle, "I guess I get it now."

Before I can even take another breath of life, I feel the man's arms wrap around me until I am pinned against his chest. He holds me there gently, and although thousands of hairs on my back stand up, it gives me like the smallest sensation of home. Softly, Elijah hushes me, stroking the very ends of my hair. My fingers fumble with the paper still in my hands, crinkling slightly when he squeezes me with firmness. For so long, I swear I had forgotten the feeling of a man's arms, whether of my brother's, my father's, or even my future mate's. Because he had loved Regan more than I had realized that a person could, Damon chose to neglect me completely. My legs worked fine, and yet that very fact was to my disadvantage, well, because his heart still belonged to the very same dead girl without the strength to run.

"Should we go see how Bonnie's doing?" Elijah asks in a warm tone. "That should make you feel better."

I nod as much as I can against his body, pulling away when he reaches for the doorknob. My fingers swiftly brush away any remaining tear trails that I know can be seen in the hallway when the lighting is just right. With his feet just steps behind, we move toward the room beside Damon's lair, the place where Bonnie lies among an ocean of pillows. She lifts her head slightly as we enter, resulting in an immediate smile from me. I nearly stumble over my own feet trying to dash over to where she weakly rests on a brown cot. The paper in my hold remains tightly bunched in my cold fist as I attempt to hug the rack of bones I feel is beside me. Her lips are so dry and her eyes so empty that even the light in the room doesn't seem to reflect in them.

"Kai's dead, Bonnie, okay? We're both going to be-"

"Elena, don't overwhelm her," Elijah tells me.

His body stands behind me as I kneel to be with my friend. I nod in tears. In some ways, I feel I have nothing else to say to her. No apologies from me could ever undo her pain. No short chats about the weather could ever pull her from the sad pit she must be living in right now. I hold her hand, and though she turns her head to look at me, she is too disoriented to speak.

"E-Elijah, could you please give this to Damon when you see him?" I whisper as I pass the brown-tinged note up toward where his hands rest. "I'm not sure I have the bravery to do it myself."

He disappears within moments, before I can ask again like a desperate child. I cry harder, sinking myself deeper into the floor. Even with the good, I feel the bad twice as painfully. What kind of person am I becoming here? Why is the humanity so sparse and happiness a withheld ration?

* * *

Damon doesn't bat an eye at my absence during dinner. As always, he silently walks the perimeter of the room, steps into the bathroom, and emerges soon after with an urge to collapse into the bed. I notice Kai's letter on his bedside table, clumped into a paper ball, but to Damon, it is only an ordinary decoration, not some apology from a dead man. Together in the darkness we sleep, separate in some ways and yet both sentenced to the same gloomy torture of the night.

Sometimes I'm unsure if he actually sleeps, or if his eyes stare off out the window in search of something unworldly. There are no heavy breaths to signal unconsciousness. No. He just lays there like he's waiting for death, and interestingly enough, I can't say I would stop him. Just like Bonnie, I can only hope that my abuser will rid himself, just so that possibly I could escape this horrid fate. I take hours to fall asleep tonight. My eyes are glued to Regan's face from what I can see of her on the bed. This monster loved her. He had a heart once, a certain degree of empathy that made him like everyone else. When I close my lids one final time, there is emptiness inside my chest, maybe because unknowingly, something in this room drains its occupants. The longer one stays, the more hollow their soul becomes. Damon is the perfect example of that.

Yes, I have grown used to abrupt wake up calls when the sun still sits teasingly below the horizon, and yet my body begs me not to move. Damon seems halfway out the door by the time I find the strength to sit up. He is silent as he makes his escape, likely holding his breath for a greater effect. As always, I make sure he is gone for a while before I dress, just to be sure that his deathly gaze never finds me at my most vulnerable moment. Today, the room circulates chilled air which whips against my breasts until the nipples stand up like stiff statues. I shiver, wrapping myself with the lanky arms I've had since a tiny tot. With the addition of the dress, I realize it only does so much to warm my quivering frame, and so I rush to finish throwing on my scuffed black shoes.

Everyone has already begun their chores by the time I finally mosey on down there myself. Not every day is dedicated to laundry, I discover. Nope. Today is a survival, kill-or-be-killed kind of day where each girl scrambles to finish her specific duty. I scarf down some oatmeal sitting on the stovetop, while I wallow in my own sadness. No one seems to notice me, feet tapping all around me in pursuit of their next destination. On the worn-down chalkboard hung on the wall, I see "bathrooms" beside my name. Suddenly, I'm not sure I should stop myself from coughing up the oatmeal chunks barricaded in my throat. Death appears more favorable than cleaning a public crucible of bodily fluids.

Jo is deep in concentration as she parades around the kitchen with Maverick on her hip. He is fussing in her arms, beginning to screech the longer she ignores him. The woman turns around to see me, almost relieved at my presence. Within seconds, the toddler is being handed to me. I flinch, unsure how to take the boy into my hold, and she laughs at my hesitance with a friendly grin.

"Would you mind taking him today? Matt's helping me with putting up a new clothesline outside."

I nod naively, somehow convinced that I could handle a child I do not really know. He feels warm, and the oddest feeling washes over me, changing my mood altogether. His cries stop, and he cranes his dirty blonde head to look at me with wide, curious eyes. Little fingers skim my face, his attention following the path they make until our orbs meet.

"Hi," I whisper.

"Be a good boy for her, Mav," Jo says as she paces one final time around the kitchen.

Now with a child glued to my hip, I move to grab the bucket labeled "bathroom" below the board. It's filled with brushes, vinegar, and plenty of old rags, all rather unsettling in appearance. Mav is too intrigued by my brown locks dangling beside him to notice my struggle up the stairs. Obviously, it has been far too long since I've done any hardcore work, and I stop on the fifth step to laugh incredulously at the pathetic state I've created. Maverick begins to slide from my hold, forcing me to take the steps back down to the ground floor for stability.

"Let's start with the downstairs," I mumble more to myself than to him.

"I walk, silly," He giggles in his tiny voice.

Somehow he wriggles out of my arms before bouncing up and down excitedly. I laugh, reaching down for his hand to hold mine as we move toward the first-floor bathroom. My back bends slightly forward to be able to walk with him, but he just spits bubbles with his lips between his babbling as if no cares in the world concern him.

"How old are you?" I ask, maybe too seriously.

"Two," He shouts, pushing his sticky fingers up to my face to show me.

The boy sits on the bathroom floor as I work my way around the room. He laughs when I use the collar of the dress to shield my nose while scrubbing the toilet, busying himself with the tiny figures made from wood and old silverware. As I finish wiping down the sink, he offers the toys to me with a wide grin that shows his baby teeth.

"We can play in my room when I'm done with my chores, okay?" I smile, turning my attention back to the water fixture.

He simply nods, bowing his head to continue whatever game he has created for the wooden creatures. I sigh in relief with the completion of the first restroom, wiping away the wetness forming at my brows. Together Maverick and I head toward the staircase again, but this time I am free of the burden of an added weight keeping me from trudging up the obstacle. The boy just follows behind, babbling some catchy song one of the girls must have taught him.

Memories of Kai's corpse, of Bonnie's pale body, of Damon's crumpled note of apology from his enemy. It seems like so long ago, and yet retracing my steps only helps me to relive it suddenly. Maverick runs ahead when I pause at the top, creating buzzing noises to emphasize the speed of his toys flying down the hall. I catch up with him when he stops in front of Wes and Jo's room, as if he knows the perfunctory actions of us all.

This routine carries on into the day, for hours, bathroom by bathroom until I swear the scent of vinegar and toilet water could be enough to make me physically sick. Jo brings us sandwiches to munch on around noon. We take them to Damon's room, plopping ourselves onto the floor. I feel exhausted, laying myself back onto the coolness of the wood. Maverick eats his food whilst playing with his toys, never growing bored of his little friends.

Eventually, I sit up, pulling him into my lap until his butt dips down to the floor between my knees. It feels so foreign to hold a child, but in the same respect absolutely breathtaking. I smile as he places the wooden man into my palm, rolling it along my open hand.

"Is he your favorite?" I whisper.

"No. I wost the best one," He mumbles with a pout.

Then to my surprise, the door creaks open. There is blood and dirt covering his shirt, mud dried along the edges of his boots. He turns to see me, likely surprised but unchanged in his expression. The blue eyes avoid me altogether, moving to the boy instead. First, his eyes are blank, only to grow livid moments later.

"Take him out," He shouts.

My body trembles at the harshness of his words. I fumble to move, my eyes wide in question.

"S-Sir, I-I," I try to explain.

"Now. I said now, " He says again, a break in his voice, "Don't ever bring him here again."

I grab Maverick in an instant, flinging him onto my hip in panic. The small boy begins to cry, gripping the collar of my dress as I trip over my own feet on the way to the open door. Damon's eyes are metal shields, impenetrable, and it feels as though the only things that can soften them is Regan. This outlash is unexpected, pathetic, almost selfish in a way. My feet begin to work twice as hard when I meet the air of the hall. A door slams behind me and my heart hiccups until I am nearly collapsed against the railing of the balcony.

"It's okay, Mav." I try to soothe the child, only causing his cries to augment.

Jo comes running up the stairs in alarm, reaching her arms out for him. He buries his chubby cheeks into her neck with a squeal, while I just stand in shock at Damon's cruelty.

"D-Damon got angry and I-I don't know. He was just so mad at him being in there," I mumble through heavy breaths.

Her eyes widen, as if suddenly she understands. She doesn't look at me as she begins to speak, even though my brown orbs beg to meet hers.

"Now you know, I guess," She flatly chuckles, "Damon doesn't like children. Well...thanks for watching him, Elena."

She descends the staircase before I can ask her to articulate her statement. Does everyone know that this man is insane? Do they hide that fact with faith that he is more likely not to kill me than he is to go through with it? I make my way down the hall breathlessly, gripping my chest. I'm not sure why my legs always lead me back to Elijah, but I feel so safe, so far from danger there. I sigh. My bravery has its limits here. Facing Damon is not a task I am willing to take on, not when I am one of the few sane beings here. Or am I?

* * *

If the day couldn't drag on any longer, Jenna asks me to grab the spare laundry basket out of Luke's bedroom. The thought makes my stomach churn inside me. With Maverick by my side for so much of the day, I feel empty without the boy, almost unprotected. Maybe he couldn't fend off any monsters, but somehow his presence brings reassurance, a soothing semblance to keep me from becoming paranoid. Luke thus far has only shown me traits of Damon, times ten. That fatal mix of anger and hatred and emptiness all bottled into one.

With every shaky step I take down that long hallway, I force myself to be brave, even with the lion waiting for me on the other side of the door. I somehow manage to rap my knuckles against the wood, lightly stating my name and reason for bothering him. He sounds far too happy when he tells me to come in. I do, with fear, but also with a rush of adrenaline that makes my arms want to reach out for the basket hastily. The shades are drawn in the space, giving it an eerie feel as I make my way in. Some force clicks the door shut behind me, until I am locked in.

"I-I just need the basket….where is t-the basket?" I beg, feeling my skin begin to prickle.

My feet can only move in circles as I search the room for Luke. A dark figure stands in the corner by the door. I lose my breath, stumbling back, only to have him step forward, like it's a game. The wall hugs my back soon, and I cry out. I first hear his panting before his face finally appears somewhere in the grim lighting of the room. His hands grab my arms, slamming them to the walls. I scream, but his dirty palm slaps over my mouth until I am silenced.

"Did Damon ever tell you that I saw you first that day he took you?" He prompts, "You were supposed to be mine."

I fight against him, sweat pooling down the center of my back. It feels as though I cannot breathe, like the air is too heavy to carry into my lungs. Tears smother his hand, and I wince when he reaches for the hem of my dress. He spends so long running his fingertips and down my right thigh, lowering his face to rest beside my ear. My body screams as his hot breaths fan my ear, his finger playing with the edge of my panties.

"Do you liked to be teased?" He breathes with a smirk.

I try to scream again, but he only laughs, yanking on the panties until they begin to droop on one side. With one final burst of desperation, I thrust my left knee up between his legs. He releases me to move his hand to the wounded area, allowing me enough time to slam the heel of my hand into his nose with such power. I hear a crunch and then a garbled cry. I can't see his face, only the outline of his body as it tumbles to the floor. My legs take off for the safety of the hallway, until I nearly throw myself down the stairs. I cry out, screaming, begging as I plant each foot with supreme strength.

"Help," I scream. "Oh help me."

I land on my knees on the kitchen floor, where all the bodies sit themselves in lines on either side of the dining table. Eyes move to see me, and many pause in shock. I scream out again, trembling with my face red as a beet and a heart as fast as a hummingbird's.

"L-Luke-"

"For fuck's sake. She attacked me," His familiar voice utters behind me.

I gasp, craning my neck to see him in the doorway. His hands, coated in blood, are clamped over his nose. Everyone is more alarmed at the sight of his blood than they are at my plea for their help. Only Damon moves toward me from his seat. I panic, begging for him not to come to me.

"Please. He tried to t-touch me, Dam-."

"Sir. You call me Sir," He commands.

Within in seconds, he turns to look at Luke.

"She asked me to help her escape, and when I refused, she attacked me," The monster whines, his voice nasally from his nasty injury.

"N-no. He's lying." Everyone glares at me like I'm the oppressor. "I swear. P-please."

Damon stares at me for some time, showing no expression of his ultimate verdict. No one moves, but all wait longingly for Damon. His eyes move to Wes's and then to Alaric's. Finally, he turns to me, subconsciously shaking his head as if disappointed.

"You've crossed a line," He says blankly, snatching my arm before I can move away from his ever-nearing presence.

The room fills with gasps of horror as they watch the man nearly drag me out the kitchen. I feel my knees slide along the wooden flooring, past Luke, until we are moving through the living room. I scream, begging again for someone to save me. My arm feels like it may pop out of the socket as Damon pulls me along, resorting to gripping my waist when we reach the bottom of the stairs. I fight him in my utter hysteria, feeling every breath forced out of me whenever he hauls us up another step. There is no anger in his actions, only some sick sense of duty, like he must punish his unruly child.

He allows me to drop to the floor of the room, at the point I can no longer fight. His hands skim through a ring of keys before he pushes into the locked bottom drawer I had longed to break into. I don't have the strength to see inside, my panting almost painful like that of my grandfather's wheezing. Damon kneels over my body, wrapping something around the column of my throat. When I attempt to scratch it away, he does nothing to stop me, but continues until it is secure. I begin to choke, and when I swallow, I feel it rub against the bulging knot in my windpipe.

"I am responsible for you in this house, and if you act out, I have to correct it," He grunts as he lifts me from under the arms to stand.

"I'm i-innocent. I sw-."

A sharp electric shock explodes through my body, with such force that I cannot help but stop my words. My fingers scrape at it hysterically, unable to fathom the pain. It's as if all the lightening in the world had manifested inside this collar; all with the prospect of silencing my urgent plea for mercy.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Thank you so much to **WhyWeWashTheWindows** for editing!

**Analysis:** So in this chapter, Kai commits suicide, Damon becomes furious with Maverick's presence in his room, and Elena is ultimately punished for something she didn't do. Now, Damon's decision to punish Elena is not because he hates her, nor because he's angry with her. He feels it's his responsibility to discipline her, and since she has tried to run away before, he has no choice but to believe that she would attempt it again. Luke made a very convincing plea because it sounds like something Elena would try to do (make a deal with someone for their help). On another note, Kai's apology is unexpectedly kind, possibly validating that he wasn't as "evil" as we all believed, though his actions in the past have been cruel and unforgivable. Maybe the most surprising scene is Damon's reaction to Maverick. Does he really hate children or is it something much deeper, something that traces back to Regan? Next chapter, we will experience Damon's POV of the dog shock collar punishment, to really drill inside his thoughts and feelings pertaining to the tough situation he was placed in.

Thank you for the love and support! xoxo Ren


	9. To Endure

"**To endure is the first thing that a child ought to learn, and that which he will have the most need to know." ~Jean Jacques Rousseau**

**Damon**

As with everything I have ever done since Regan's passing, there is no attachment. Instead, there is this expectation to serve justice here, a precedent set by these men to ensure a sense of security. It's a false one, if anything, but I play along because if I don't, someone else will. The begging and pleading no longer pulls at my chest, not the way my beloved's would have. In those days, the softest whimper was enough to bring me to my knees before her. That human part of me flew away under her wing as she departed, leaving me here, empty and cold in a world that never really felt right.

"The first time you tried to escape, I didn't lay a finger on you." As I speak, I drag her over to the only slice of the wall without something touching it: no chair, no dresser, no picture frames.

She fights me wildly, crazed like a madwoman, listening to the buckle of my belt loosen. I sigh slightly, slipping the long strap from my hips, while keeping her body pressed up against the wall of the room. I suppose, on this verminous and gloomy earth, we must do things we would rather not. If only my heart could still ache for someone, give pity to a human asking for even a drop of benevolence. If only that part of me hadn't been torn away so soon.

I turn back to Elena, who can only hold the chords of her voice steady as the collar threatens to chastise her in its own way. Her body trembles, tears flying wildly left and right. I can hear the desperation in her shaky voice as soft as a breeze, and I tighten my hold on the belt, which hangs dangling, yearning to touch the floor.

"You're going to count," I tell her firmly, gripping the shoulder of her dress. "If you don't say it loud enough, the next slap will hurt much, much worse than that collar."

Her words are muddled, like silent squeaks and cries when I nail her body to the wall. The belt meets her ass with a sharp slap, guarded partially by the fabric of her dress. I choose to leave the clothing intact out of some subconscious courtesy, some unknown gesture of mercy. The girl stifles a scream, nearly hugging the wall-no, it is as if she is trying to melt into it-when the pain radiates through her.

"Count," I demand when she refuses to spew out the first number.

"O-one," She whimpers softly, only loud enough for a tiny burst of electricity to meet her skin.

My hand whacks her again, harder this time out of disapproval. Her knees almost cave in, and she bangs her fists onto the wall helplessly.

"I said loud," I explain once again, "Say it like you mean it or the next one will be harder."

"Tw-" She nearly shouts before the collar zaps her cruelly.

She whispers my name in the few moments she has to recover. If only she could see the lifelessness in my face. Maybe then she wouldn't even bother trying to extract the humanity. This time, I lighten my strike as a reward for her cooperation, for her bravery in facing the excruciating pain.

"Thre-." Her voice breaks with the crack of the collar's charge.

The girl expects another strike, but to her surprise, I pull away until her body falls to the floor in a heap. She silently sobs, still scratching at the collar in a frenzy. As I reach down to remove it, she is taken off guard, swinging her head around aimlessly. I rest my hand on her shoulder, and she calms enough for me to pluck it off. Within seconds of her freedom, she coughs furtively, more like painful cries than a nasty tickle in the throat. She cranes her face up at the ceiling, screaming in raw, long roars. Her arms hold herself as she rocks on the tail of her spine.

"Luke pinned me to the wall just like that," She warbles in anguish, "He tried to touch my-."

"Go to bed," I tell her without empathy.

Maybe in the end, her words were the ultimate truth, but in them I saw a desperate girl looking for her next escape. I saw an attention-seeker hoping to win the hearts of the household. I saw a child avoiding the punishment out of fear, relying on a fabricated tale and a pointed finger. I feel nothing, and so no regret can eat away at me. I did what needed to be done. That is all.

I move over to the dresser to put my belt on, silently huffing the hot air of the room. The buckle gives me trouble, and I hiss in frustration before giving up.

"Did you punish Regan?" She spits when her voice finds the strength to speak again.

I immediately march over, raising my hand to her and glaring down at the girl in rage. Her eyes stare into me fearlessly, but she winces almost subconsciously. Somehow, deep inside, I resist the urge to slap her, slowly returning my arm to rest at my side.

"You know nothing about me, and you know even less about her." There is so much pain in my words that all I can do is hiss through clenched teeth.

I take another step forward, until I am towering over her quivering frame. There must be something still fearful inside her, and so she breathlessly nods. Tears flutter toward the floor, her face beginning to point in the same direction.

"I nev-," My voice breaks, "I never hurt her. Never."

One final breath, and I am gone from the room. Voices downstairs come into range as I reach the bottom of the staircase, watching them tend to Luke's bloody nose. The purplish bruises and swelling are gruesome at first glance, and yet I relish in realization. As my feet creak against the floor, eyes snap toward me. It always seems lately that there are empty plates with a pan filled with food, but that has yet to stop me from appeasing my demanding stomach. Luke keeps his eyes casted down when I pass, but suddenly I halt.

"I hope she fucking broke it," I tell him, stepping away.

Alaric stands behind me as I grab a bowl from the counter. He seems unsure whether or not to ask. The red marks on my palms, the sweat along my hairline, and even the heaving breaths of my lungs give away the answer, almost too easily.

"Elen-" He starts.

"I took care of it," I mumble. And I did.

* * *

At this point, I no longer need an alarm clock. My lids intuitively flutter open right at 4:30, and like a marionette, I sit up without thought. Every day is exactly like the one before it; empty, lost, systematic, and even useless. It is only that sweet brief naivety as I wake that makes me smile, that fleeting moment where I reach my hand beside me to feel Regan there. For no longer than a few seconds, I wake with her. I think of what our day will bring, what adventures we will travel. But my fingers touch the bare sheets, curling them into my palms in shock. She isn't there. Again, she is only but a ghost.

I go on with my day without her. I throw my jeans on, my button-down, and my boots because they're all I have left. If I laid here eternally, it would offer me too much time to think about her, and so working keeps me moving. It keeps those demons away long enough to survive another day. Whatever the reason, I have survived two years without her.

"Get up," I roughly remind Elena.

She only buries her face deeper into the pillow, crying softly. If only she understood true pain, true anguish. If only her tears were better spent on something worth her effort. It embitters me to no end. There needs to be respect here, that at the very least I demand. When I finish tying the laces of my boots, I stand, making my way to the other side of the bed impatiently.

I throw the sheets off of her, until her long body is exposed to the chill of the morning. She screams slightly into the white pillow. Within that time, I yank her nightgown up until her bare ass stares back at me.

"There isn't a mark on you," I hiss, "Quit your self-pity. Three swats of the belt and you've given up living?"

My hands grab her arm, jerking her from the bed like a doll. She fights me, but her strength is no match for mine. I reach for the hem of her nightgown, restraining her flailing arms in the process.

"You are going to get dressed, now," I bark.

It seems that anger can fuel a fire within our veins, spreading like the blood is made of pure alcohol. Can she see it as my eyes stare straight ahead, unperturbed by her ceaseless punches and cries? I pull the gown up, keeping my feet firmly planted on the floor as she wildly flails in my hold. Something is begging me to let her go, but I fight it.

"Please stop," Someone whispers.

It isn't Elena who says it. Suddenly I step back, dazed, my arms falling to my sides. I do not move for many moments, craning my neck to look down at the trembling of my fingers. Turning on my heels, I bolt from the room in long strides that squeak against the wood panels. Chills run up my spine, forcing each hair to stand on end. I pant. I'm hearing voices now. Is it the wind singing or the devil calling to me?

I run to the first-floor bathroom, nearly tripping on the rug. A mirror fills the wall above the twin sinks, and desperately I throw myself in front of it. I quickly unbutton my shirt, followed by my pants. I mutter to myself, begging the ghost for more time.

"Regan, baby, if that's you. Wait," I whisper, "Talk to me again. Tell me, baby. Come on. I need you. See? You see what I'm doing? I want to feel you, angel. I want all of you touching me. Just touch me. Just for one more moment."

I stand only in my underwear before the mirror, eyes crazed in hysteria. As if an annoying fly is buzzing around the bathroom, I never fix my sight on any one thing. I just keep wandering, completely lost and searching for a sign of her. That voice had to have been Regan's. She can touch physical objects if she really wanted to. I want her to touch me. I want to feel her.

"Regan, come on, baby," I whine. "Please."

My fingers move across the skin of my stomach so lightly. I carol her name, pleading with her ghost to haunt me more, more than she has ever. There is no night where I don't wish for her cold hands to reach out, nor demand that the voices stop. I want it, like any addiction, I want Regan.

"Haunt me," I cry, "Haunt me. May you not rest without me."

No matter what I do, her spirit does not respond. That momentary voice may have been no more than a figment of my imagination. That sweet voice may have been what I wanted to hear, some part of me begging not to hurt Elena. I cry harder and harder, until my touch becomes rough. I leave red marks down my chest, dragging my nails to the point of physical pain.

"I want you to touch me for fuck's sake," I yell into the reflection. "Kiss me. You know I'm not a patient man."

I fall to my knees, defeated. She is gone, far gone, and in my rage, I slam a fist against the cabinet doors of the counter, cursing to the heavens that had taken her. All I have left are the memories, some photographs, others videos stored inside my head. In those, the thought of kissing her causes my muscles to tense. The thought of her breath tickling my eardrum causes my blood to rush. Yes. The very thought of Regan alone could cause death to claim me.

"We'll be together, baby. Just me and you." I begin to throw my clothes back on, angry and disappointed. "Just me and you."

Shit. I can hear the men heading for the front door, and somehow in this hazy hour, I follow them without even a bite of sustenance or a tissue to wipe my pathetic tears. No. No one notices my watery eyes, nor the deep pink of my cheeks. Instead, they watch the sun bob on the horizon as we begin weeding. It is back-breaking work, but it soothes whatever ails my animosity toward life. It keeps my mind momentarily on something other than her.

Alaric works beside me just as meticulously, while the others attempt to construct the newest shed to sit beside the barn. They say these buildings were once garages where people stored their cars. Now, likely to their dismay, we store our animals there at night. Each morning someone lets them out into their fenced-in field, where they graze and bask in the sun. With Kai gone, there is one less set of hands to hoe the fields, to reap the crops in the fall, and to help water the massive garden. I fear soon, Wes will extend our working hours. No fucking way.

Sweat begins to permeate my skin as the sun rises higher every aching hour. When I reach up to wipe my forehead, the dirt powdered on my hands imbeds itself into my pores. I move my face to look at the blazing sun, but it is far too powerful, too scorching to view with my eyes alone. I force my eyes back down, until the hat shields my skin again.

"Damon, they buried Kai far away from her," Alaric tells me as he tears another invading plant from the soil.

I nod, plucking deep-rooted weeds at double the pace. The heat messes with one's sanity, they say. It burns my flesh through my shirt, through my thick black locks. I feel it pierce through my organs, until they are so warm, I swear they could shrivel up. Every action becomes slower, more pained than the next. I take a sip from Alaric's water flask, gulping, allowing the liquid to skim my cheeks. Hours pass, and a mirage floats above the grassy land. I see shapes, swirls of color, and faces of children. Suddenly, I laugh.

"Dude, that's why you're supposed to bring your water with you," Matt prompts when he sees me laughing at the ground. "The heat does some weird shit to people."

Two sets of arms grab me from under the shoulders, hoisting me up to stand before moving toward the shade of a tree. I gasp as I fall to the coolness of the grass beneath it. I close my eyes, still smirking at the dizziness of my mind. They must leave me for some time because for so long, I watch the sun sprint across the cloudless blue expanse. Then, my lunch shows up beside me at some point, and I consume it without hesitation.

When I return to the fields to once again endure the flames of hell, I turn toward the house. In the distance, an angel of some sort steps through the thick grass in our direction. I swear the sun is giving me hallucinations again, but as the girl nears, I realize her validity. She has a tray in her hands, glasses neatly arranged in rows. The brown tendrils, the alert doe eyes, the long legs. It's Elena.

"I-I brought fresh lemonade," She announces awkwardly before stepping toward Jeremy.

Some semblance of thrill enriches the men as the girl makes her rounds. I pretend to stare off toward the cows grazing when Elena comes to me with the tray. My hand swipes one of the glasses, chugging the cold liquid in relief. I push my dirty fingernails through my wet black locks, taking a deep breath into the hot summer air. At first I don't notice that Elena skips over Luke, but with one glass still balanced on her tray, and eyes clicking between me and the house, I know her intention. A soft groan escapes me as I maneuver myself to where she stands, a shadow covering her entire body when I tower over her, peering down into her eyes.

"You're going to be respectful," I tell her.

"He-," She stammers, the ice repeatedly clicking the sides of the sole glass on the tray.

"I don't care what he did. Show some respect." My voice rumbles in my chest, so close to her, she may have felt it against her breasts.

Tears brimming, she backs away from me. I watch her carefully as she returns to deliver Luke his share of lemonade. He smiles at her as he takes the glass, causing Elena to sprint for the house. There is no wave goodbye, no farewell, no further acknowledgement. She leaves us with more hatred than she came with. I watch the blurry mirage of her silhouette as she walks through the grassy field, once again transitioning into the outline of a flowy angel. Even I cannot deny that truth.

* * *

Throughout the rest of the day, I work my way across the field with Alaric, plucking little sprouts of evil that threaten the nourishment of our crops. Even when our muscles grow weary, and our mouths parched, we push on. He tells me delusional tales of a world where everyone is free, where medicine cures all, and where equality among people is a priority. I nearly laugh at the thought of such a place, a place where my brother, Verity, Regan, and even Kai could have felt accepted.

When my bladder is so full I swear I may piss my pants, I walk toward the wooded area. There, another makeshift wooden cross sticks out from a dirt mound. Tyler appears, sitting behind a tree. I can see only one leg, but his muffled crying is loud, almost echoing thanks to the hollowness of the forest. For a moment, I almost forget about my bulging bladder. I almost forget that my sworn enemy is buried beneath the pile of dirt. I almost forget that my clothes are soaked in sweat.

I step around the tree that Tyler is leaning against, just until I see him fully. A black gun rests in his palm, and he repeatedly taps it on the bark. He sees me, but does not flinch or terminate his emotions. I wait for him to say something, but he blocks me out. His eyes are droopy, his skin covered in scratches from days out in the field with us.

"Wanna watch?" He sniffles, wiping his cheeks.

I stand silently, watching his hand carefully. He fingers the gun, playing with the weapon so negligently, counting to himself like a crazed loon.

"How have you made it so long without shooting your brains out?" He laughs, staring at the gun with such need. "I can barely hold myself together."

"Don't be stupid," I growl.

"Isn't this what you want, Damon? You have waited for me to do this." It takes everything in me not to shout my agreement.

He laughs again, tears still pouring out from his lashes. The man begins knocking the back of his head against the tree, tightening his grip on the gun. I hear him cock the damn thing, laughing through the spaces between his teeth. He looks at me for a moment, still bashing his skull, but fixing his eyes on mine.

"There's no cure. No matter how many times I fuck Liv or Vicki, I-I can't feel. I feel nothing," He sobs, "I get it now. Your pain."

He begins to lift the gun up, turning the tip to sit at his temple. His fingers shake, his lips dry as the cracks of the bark behind his head. I watch emotionlessly, not moving a muscle. He begins to apologize, to beg to no one in particular. His brown eyes close, and for a moment I think I have missed the sound of the gun firing. Instead, he opens those brown orbs again.

"Put the gun down," I finally say, with the same conviction I choose to use with Elena.

"I'm sorry. I have to do this," He whimpers.

Before he has time to pull the trigger, I kick the gun out of his hand, leaning down to grab the collar of his shirt. He cries out, horrified at my intervention.

"Pull yourself together," I bark. "We are all in this hell together. Got it?"

He tries to reach for the weapon again, a darkness reflecting in his eyes. I smash his head back against the trunk of the tree, and within seconds, his body slumps forward. To my delight, I knocked the nutcase out. My own corpse collapses beside him, and I pant. Fuck. I allow the sweat to cool me as I breathe, but something is extraordinarily distracting.

The gun stares at me, beckoning. I grab it, just to feel the metal against my hand. The smoothness, the coolness, the danger. It all appeals to me in this heat. I feel my fingertips begin to quiver, the longer I consider the thought of blasting the bullet through my skull. To be with Regan. To hold her one more time. To hear her voice. To look into her eyes and not some picture. I could do it. Right now, this very moment, I could end it all; the pain, the loneliness, the anger. It could all be gone. I push myself onto my feet, crouched down low to hold the weapon between my two palms.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," I mutter, rocking back and forth on my feet. "I can do this. I can be with you. We can haunt others. Together."

Yes. I could be with her right now. It feels so close. Her fingers almost seem to reach down from the sky to take my hand. I can imagine the coolness of the clouds, the warmth of the angels instead of the scorching sun. I can imagine a place that is never dark, and equality is a priority. Like Alaric said, there is a world somewhere matching that description. That place is with Regan.

"I am a horrible man," I cry breathlessly, "I deserve this. I-I deserve no humanity at all, no life."

Just as Tyler had done before, I press the cold tip to my temple with a shaky hand. I look up to the sky and I feel the urine pool beneath me, almost as painful as the heat of the summer sun, while my lips can barely echo a single word. This endless torture, the pain cannot be expressed.

"I'm coming, baby," I laugh incredulously, closing my eyes.

"Please stop," That same voice from earlier begs, and I pause.

Somehow, almost miraculously, I allow the gun to fall to the earth. With as much enthusiasm as I feel toward death, something, some invisible force will not let me go. It will not sacrifice the soul of a monstrous man. It will not let me slip away. No. Somewhere in this place a phantom coaxes me to live, to suffer my time in this prison as nature had decided the day Regan died. This place, this purgatory is my own personal torture chamber.

I feel a rain droplet bounce off my nose, and I burst into more tears, smiling and laughing and sobbing. When I look up at the sky, I sniffle, closing my eyes as millions of raindrops slam onto me. Like a maniac, I stand, throwing my arms in the air, shouting into the sky with a deep chuckle. The water has put out the flames, it has tamed the fire in my veins that begs for death.

"I love you," I shout with a smile, and in that moment, unlike any other since her passing, I knew that Regan had heard me.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Thank you so much to **LiveBreatheVampires** for editing this!

**Analysis:** As the title says, this chapter is about enduring (whether life or pain). Elena receives her punishment, which is pretty basic, and simply acts to reinforce rather than to physically hurt her. Damon fights his paranoia of being haunted for most of this chapter, the blazing summer heat playing its part in his emotional instability. When Elena avoids Luke, Damon is firm in his words about being respectful. A huge milestone for Damon, although he is very cold, is that he mocked Luke about Elena breaking his nose. This is the first time Damon has ever really "supported" Elena for anything. She wasn't there to hear it, but subconsciously Damon believed Elena's story regarding Luke. He knows she is innocent. His intention in the punishment was not to hurt her, but to make the others in the house feel better somehow (sense of justice). Damon feels something...it's just buried inside him! Lastly, Damon doesn't let Tyler kill himself (because either he wants Tyler to suffer through the hell of living without his love or he genuinely could not bear the guilt of not stopping him). Soon after, Damon picks up the gun, and in the scorching sun, he begins to consider suicide. Then the rain comes, and the tension melts with it.

**Up Next:** Damon's expectations of Elena become a tad more demanding. Warning for M Rated content.

I'll be in the hospital for a while to recover from my spinal surgery. I hope to be back and writing soon, so maybe I will update on my regular schedule, but if I don't...Thank you all so much for the support and love! Until then... xoxo Ren


	10. To Touch

"_**To touch a sore is to renew one's grief." ~Terence**_

**Elena**

_**Three Weeks Later…**_

With a rusty hair pin that I stole from Jenna's bathroom, I begin to twist and manipulate the lock of that stupid drawer. From wires to kitchen knives, nothing has worked to unleash the contents of my master's secret world. He doesn't notice the marks from where the knife slipped and scratched the wood surrounding the keyhole, but then again I'm not sure Damon notices much lately. Instead, his mind is concentrated on drinking a repugnant liquid that sits beside his bed. Its potency is enough to make my eyes burn, but that's his muse since my punishment, since the day he came home soaked in urine and sweat. His obsession has been his expectations of me.

Once the drinking began, so did his involvement in my life. He found his words, forcing them on me as he sipped from the bottle. I still remember his harsh lecture, and even when I cried, he would take another gulp from his stash without concern.

"I've left you alone since your arrival," He had begun with his back facing me.

I had laid on the bed, yawning, still ignorant to what he would say next. His eyes remained hidden from me, as if he knew that the extent of his desire could not bear to be seen. My heart jumped in fear, and in some ways, I feel Damon could sense it from where he stood by the dresser.

"I expect something in return," He said lightly.

"W-what do you mean?" I whimpered, yanking the sheets up until they touched my cheeks.

"I expect what a husband would ask of his wife. By now you would have been wedded to that pussy back home. I doubt he would be okay without a little affection."

He began to reach for the back of his shirt, pulling it over his head with ease until his muscled torso touched the chilled air of the room. The sight made me tense, it made my cheeks burn with a nervous guilt. I tried to think of what things I would have done with Landon, what 'things' Damon was speaking of. The thought made me tremble, even tear up. My abductor wanted me to do the intimate things I planned only to share with my husband.

"I-I don't know," I whispered in shame, "Kiss-"

"Not fucking kissing. This is for my benefit, not yours." As his shorts began to descend down his thighs, I could feel my throat constrict.

"Then I-I don't know what you're saying." My lips began quivering. "I already share a bed-."

"Are they still keeping girls fucking naive as hell in that city?" He spat, "It means that if I want something from you, I will have it. It means I expect you to do as I say, to lay there quietly as I take you."

His voice was so deep, so unlike him. He turned around to face me, to the point that his bare body was all I could view in front of me. I cried out, horrified. It was unexpected, almost unjustified. Some part of my innocence fell away in that moment. Maybe the city had kept me in the dark about marriage, about things involving the opposite gender, but in some ways, that's what I wanted. Damon stepped closer, against my pleas for him to stay away.

When he was beside the bed, my eyes clamped themselves shut, and I felt the air swirl as he disappeared, back to where he had been by the dresser. He ignored my sobs and my tortured mind as he mocked and prodded my ignorance. For as long as I had been here, the man left me alone. He ignored me, commanded very little, almost pretended I hadn't existed. Now, he wanted to break me, to laugh as I handed myself over to him. He wanted something, and yet I couldn't decode it. What did husbands and wives do? In all truth, I don't know, I don't understand, and with Damon, I understand even less. He is not worthy of whatever I am expected to relinquish.

"You're late for work," He sneered as he shut the door of the bedroom, leaving me to the deafening silence.

From that day on, I expected him to enact the plan he had spoken of, the one where I give him his long-awaited favors. Even today, as I listen to the click of the drawer echo, I have yet to understand. In some ways, Damon's patience has allowed me to discover his dark past, to maybe finding my ticket out of here. There could be a map, a key to a car, or even a loaded gun in this drawer. My need to return to my old life is so strong, stronger than Damon's need to keep me here. That I know, and precisely, that is my plan to escape him.

"Yes," I cheer in a whisper as I slide the hairpin out of the keyhole.

The drawer finally skids out. My heart races, eyes checking the doors and windows carefully. I stare for some time at the contents of the clandestine stash, trembling as I reach in. Photographs, knick knacks, the collar used to punish me. Nothing goes together, no story revealed as I pull each item out. The adrenaline begins to pump when feet rumble in the hallway before dying down. Almost paranoid, I check the door one last time before returning my eyes to the drawer.

Long plastic structures stand out, and as I hold them, they are cold against my skin. They look like legs, with the outline of feet attached to the bottom. Metal screws hold straps at the tops and bottoms of the molds. _Hey, Beautiful_ is etched on the back of one of them, _Perfect Soul _engraved on the other. The white straps are worn, dirty from plenty of use.

"Regan," I mutter, craning my neck up to look at her photo collage above the dresser.

Elijah had spoken of her disability, of her differences. It almost feels wrong to be holding something so ethereal, so precious. I quickly place them into the drawer, immersed in the guilt of a dead girl's struggle. My shaky fingers reach for the collar next. I hold it, wincing at the memory of the pain it had caused me. Without much consideration, I tear the battery flap open, emptying the source of its power. The cylinders clank against the floor, rolling in all directions.

I gather them before chucking them into my dresser drawer, a place Damon pretends is infectious. His nose even scrunches slightly if his fingers brush the handle by mistake. As I pick up the photographs scattered across the base of the secret compartment, my eyes grow wide. A wild-haired girl lies naked, awkwardly aiming the camera at her bare body. Her skin is so smooth, so clear, without a trace of hair. It is almost unfathomable that a girl could look so empty. This is what Damon wants. This is what his heart has always been set on. She is beautiful, skinny, tall, and unimaginably hairless. It almost puts me to shame.

Then there is that small rectangular box. I read the label: _post-intercourse contraceptive pill_. I bite my lip, unsure, almost annoyed at my lack of understanding. My fingers dig into the opening of the cardboard container, pulling out a tray of pills, each individually encapsulated by clear plastic side-by-side. Only one is empty, torn from its shell in the top left corner. He has used one, and only that one. But why? If this was important to his health, why would only one be taken, especially if I have only seen him unlock this drawer once? I shake my head as I return the sleeve to its original packaging.

The last object, hidden in the back is a wooden toy wrapped with disfigured silverware. It looks so familiar, because it is. Maverick's toy, the one he told me he had lost. Just like the others, it resembles a human, yet the perfect size to lie in a person's palm. It is so odd, so creepy. To steal from a child, one that you despise greatly.

"What happened to you?" I whisper to myself, shocked by what my abductor has chosen to hide from the world, things that he may cry about whenever he opens the drawer, whenever he needs to remind himself of his pain.

The doorknob rattles suddenly, and I slam the compartment shut, throwing myself onto the bed. Damon walks in, red streaks all down his white shirt. The vibrant color is dried beneath his fingernails, some splattered on his cheeks. My stomach clenches.

"W-What the heck?" I ask.

His eyes flick up at me. For some time he ignores me, grabbing a new shirt from his drawer, styling his dark locks in the mirror, running his fingers over Regan's portrait mechanically. Then, when he feels it is safe enough to respond, he turns himself toward me.

"Do you want to eat tonight?" He questions accusingly, as if I'm the crazy one.

Damon goes on his way, not bothering to witness my reaction. Inside, he is laughing at me, rolling his eyes, and when he returns from the bathroom refreshed, I glare at him in rage.

"They told us serial killers don't feel empathy. You kill animals, living beings. So, you're a serial killer, then. A psychopath." The man whips around, clenching his jaw.

"You are not going to speak to me like this." He rubs the edge of his belt, staring at me. "Unless you want to see a psychopath in action. I'll show you no mercy, because empathy is not in my vocabulary, right? You know nothing."

I nearly choke on my own spit. His words slice me like knives, with so much intensity that I can only blankly stare at him. For the first time in so long, I realize that he doesn't have that glass bottle. He is serious, firm in his word. As always, he doesn't stay in the room for more than a few minutes. With a clean shirt and a newly cleansed conscience, the man leaves me here, my mind pondering what awful things he would have done if he had caught me digging through his secrets. Yes, this break-in has only stirred up more unanswered questions, and less understanding about Damon's cryptic past. One full of naked women, of broken hearts, of dark secrets he will not bear to ever tell.

* * *

I watch the blood rush down my inner thighs, swirling into the water of the shower floor. The sight is soothing, as if my will is being flushed from my insides. It feels good when the pain travels through my legs, my hips, through my stomach. I surrender to this aching, closing my eyes to cry. If only I had the strength to believe I could escape this prison, to find my way home. The blood reminds me of our dinner, of the red covering Damon as he slit the creature's throat.

The washcloth caresses my skin so gently as tears cascade from my cheeks. I press myself against the wall, moving the fabric between my legs, sobbing when I touch the area. A sharp gasp escapes at the sensation, the instantaneous relief it provides. I begin to move the rag in circles. My neck snaps back, the wet strands of my hair clinging to the wall behind me. It feels good. I rub harder, testing the limits of pleasure. My eyes blur, the base of my neck tingling. The blood in my veins quickens its pace, and nervously I tense. Then, as if slapped across the cheek, I stop.

My eyes again fill with tears, and not for the reason I want. Guilt. I slump my chest forward, covering myself in shame. What have I done? My cheeks feel hot, likely red, displaying my sin for all to see. I cry harder, maybe from my regret or maybe from fear of never leaving Damon. In my hand, a white towel sits, waiting to be wrapped around me. I tremble as I dry myself, stuffing layer after layer of toilet paper into my underwear.

The room is empty as I enter, a robe swaddling my tall, lanky body. I collapse on the bed in relief. Without Damon, I feel life is bearable, and when left to my own devices, I do not have to be afraid. For a few more minutes, I use the towel to dry my hair. The door clicks open just moments later, and my heart races. Damon. He doesn't look at me as he walks toward the dresser, not an uncommon greeting lately. The infamous bottle sits in the grip of his hand, clinking against the wood when he sets it down.

I can feel his brief glances, like his eyes cannot commit. My body freezes, and even as cold droplets trickle down the back of my neck, I dare not move. He steps toward me, something unusual, almost unheard of. Out of complete fear, I allow him to. His feet slap the floor as he approaches, the faint scent of that toxic drink seeping from his mouth. I believe he can hear my heavy breaths when he squats down in front of my sitting frame. Those bright blue eyes scan me like a prize, and the moment I believe he will move away, his fingers reach out.

He gently yanks at the strap of the robe. I wince, my skin prickling at the feel of his hand touching my belly. In complete shock, I cannot react. The words catch in my throat, and I just watch as he opens the garment, exposing both breasts to him. The nipples tighten when the cold air whooshes past them, causing me to whimper in both confusion and fear. He lets the fabric slide down my arms before holding the robe there. The man's face has no expression, his eyes skimming my chest. I'm not sure if he knows how swollen they feel, or just how much fuller they seem tonight, but his expression proves to reveal nothing. Even so, his hot breath only causes more shivers up my spine, to the point that my muscles clench painfully.

Then, before the tears even reach the brim of my lash line, he returns the robe to its closed position, until my skin is hidden beneath it. As he stands again, I hug myself, squeezing until my ribs compress. I begin to tremble, trying to make those goosebumps disappear along with the sudden humiliation. Damon begins to undress near the desk, acting as though we had not encountered each other at all. I am still paralyzed on the mattress, even as he crawls beneath the sheets and reaches for the lamp beside him. In the darkness of the room, I silently cry, tormented and confused.

I stand up, shuffling toward the door. Damon's heavy breaths echo from the bed as I slowly sneak out. My body aches, and maybe not from my monthly visitor. Some part of me believes that he knew how to make me feel insecure, like some form of control. My shaky sobs grow as I feel my way down the dark hallway, counting doors and steps. Soon, even breathing becomes a challenge, almost something I have to force by the time I knock on his door. The barrier opens with my help, and shakily I step inside.

"E-Elijah?" I croak, bursting into another round of wet cries.

"Elena," He sleepily groans, "Are you okay?"

"No," I whisper pitifully.

I can see the outline of his silhouette sit up, fingers rubbing his eyes. My feet step closer and closer, unsure. He waves at me to join him. I nearly trip onto the mattress, hugging the safety of the sheets. Elijah grabs me gently, pulling me to be beside him and holding my quivering body. I cling to him, finally giving into the sobs that have bubbled up inside.

"You're safe now," He hushes, stroking my damp brown locks.

"He humiliated me," I sob, "He made me feel unworthy."

Unsure of how to respond, the man just holds me against his hot skin, leaning until we are both on our backs. He adjusts his body so that his face is just inches from mine. I can even taste his warm breaths fanning my lips. His touch is so careful, so soothing.

"You're safe now." Again, he hugs me. "Sleep here, okay?"

So I do. I fall asleep in his embrace, in the warmth of these sheets. Throughout the night, an arm remains anchored around my waist, his mouth methodically worshipping sleep beside my ear like a lullaby. For once, I feel truly at peace, truly safe in a place where pain is all any of these people know. I keep my arms pressed against my ribs, trying to forget the feeling of Damon's eyes touching them.

* * *

I wake to the door creaking open. Elijah's fingers stroke my arm up and down sweetly, even as we watch Damon set a stack of clothing on the desk just beside the entrance. The man doesn't even look up at us, and just as quickly as he appears, he is gone again. Elijah's nose nudges the column of my throat with a soft hum.

"We have to get up," He says softly, "You can change in the bathroom first, if you want to."

"D-do you think he's mad?" I nervously mumble.

"Damon is mad at the world. He can't be any angrier than he was the day before. When he's not mad, then you should be concerned." Elijah says it almost teasingly, and I smile, relieved that I'm not the only one to notice.

"Thank you for everything," I smile as I stand.

"I really enjoy you being here." He then gestures toward the bathroom, "Take your time, Elena."

After I finish dressing, I wait for Elijah in the bedroom, running my index along the shelves of books lining the walls. He catches me holding one of them, smiling as he grows nearer. The spine is thin, but the tiny print fills each page from corner to corner. Elijah laughs as he hugs me from behind, causing my body to tingle unexpectedly. He rests his chin on my shoulder, drawing out a long sigh.

"There are plenty of books to keep your mind off things," The man whispers, "So if you ever want to borrow any, please do."

I hear my name faintly through the wooden door behind us. Both our heads snap in the direction of the noise, Elijah pulling away just as the door swings open. Bonnie runs over to me, grabbing at my hand desperately.

"It's Vicky," She shouts, "They're going to force her to lose the baby."

My mind is a puddle, confused, worried, almost scared. Elijah seems just as alarmed, and when our eyes meet, his are pleading with me to follow the crazed girl. Bonnie pulls me out into the hallway, her hair braided into a bun with a flower poking out of it. She looks beautiful, like the presence of Kai had never existed, as if this is the only life she has ever known. With Jenna and Alaric, she says she's happy. I'm not sure how the sleeping arrangements are for the three of them. Maybe they all share the bed, maybe Alaric takes the floor. I am sure of nothing.

"What baby?" I ask in panic.

"She's pregnant and they're making her abort the baby and she's so scared and no one knows how it happened and everyone is fighting over what to do. We have to help her. She is hysterical." Bonnie says everything so quickly, it takes me a minute to fully understand.

In the kitchen, a group of people stand bickering, trying to speak over the voices of everyone else. Vicky sits with her head down, shaking violently. Jo and Lexi rub her back, repeatedly reassuring her time and again. They both back away as we approach, as if somehow I am the only one who can fix this. She looks up at me, eyes bloodshot, sobbing.

"I can't have this baby," She whispers, "They're right. An abortion is the only option."

"No, no, Vicky," I plead, "This baby is going to be beautiful."

Jeremy comes to stand behind me, arms crossed. I scoot my chair in enough for him to maneuver to the other side of the girl. He sits silently, and in my chest I can feel my heart pounding. I remember what I had witnessed between Vicky and Tyler. I remember it almost too clearly.

"Say it," He commands. "I want to hear it from your own lips."

Vicky whimpers, moving her eyes to meet his sheepishly. I lean in closer to her body to guard her as best I can. Jo and Lexi choose to walk away, leaving the three of us here at the table. There is so much tension, and with it I cannot predict what will happen next.

"Jer, I-," She squeaks.

"Did you fuck him?" he yells, bashing the table with his palm.

Both of us jump, our blood racing at the man's anger.

"You bitch," He howls, snatching her dress with his giant hands.

He locks his arm around her throat, tightening it as she fights him. I try everything to remain calm, screaming for help repeatedly until heads turn toward me. Tyler is the one who fights off the attacker. I am shaking, crying, begging for this to be over. Vicky's face grows a deep red, her lips bulging. Jeremy releases her neck, turning his attention to Tyler.

"Nice. The fag screws his friend's girl. Real nice," Jeremy roars, throwing himself onto his opponent.

Alaric and Luke separate the two quickly, the cracking of bones echoing through the room.

"You can have her. I'm done, Vicky. I am so fucking done with you. Got it?"

The feud across the room becomes heated thereafter, people reminding the others of the "rules". Others refute with moral obligations, some spitting curses in return. Then finally, the room silences. All eyes turn toward the doorway where Damon stands, emotionless as ever.

"She is getting an abortion," He tells us without room for argument.

"How can you say that?" I bark, standing. "There is a living being inside her."

"There are reasons for the rules in this house. There are reasons that we don't have dozens of children. There are reasons we will never make this mistake again."

He steps closer to me, my body in turn slumping in submission. I open my mouth to say something, but nothing squeaks from my lungs. His eyes look so dark this morning, even emptier than usual. I cannot imagine what monster would not hesitate. Not for a second did he pause to consider Vicky raising this baby. Not for a second, did this man allow her to decide her own fate.

I find the bravery to march over to him, slamming my fists against his chest in rage. He doesn't react, only a wall of muscle staring down at the top of my head lifelessly. I punch harder, yelling at him hysterically. A desperate scream rings from my chest.

"Why are you doing this? Why?" I cry, panting as I throw another fist into him.

Someone grabs me from behind, pulling me from Damon. The arms are gentle, but firm. Damon doesn't move from where he stands. He just stares at my disheveled body, which continues to fight whoever has chosen to end this battle.

"Elena, stop," Elijah begs, pressing me to his chest.

"Take your whore and leave," The raven-haired man hisses.

I stare at his face as he says it. His upper lip twitches slightly, and somewhere in the creases of his face there is an underlying sense of animosity toward what he witnessed this morning.

"We didn't do anything," Elijah says right back, "Don't call her that."

Damon pulls his eyes away from me finally, pushing past us. I turn myself so that I can bury my face into Elijah's neck. He holds me tightly, reminding me to breathe.

"Wes, get set up. We don't have all day here," Damon huskily growls, "And for anyone who thinks I'm wrong, you're forgetting what happens when we break the rules. Don't any of you for a second forget."

I cry harder. The man holding me hushes my whimpers as we walk back toward his bedroom. Each step of the staircase is painful, leaking more air from my lungs. I hold onto his shoulder, seeing vivid flashes in my mind of them strapping Vicky down. I imagine Damon directing it, reminding them all why he is a monster. I fall just feet from Elijah's room, gripping the floor for security.

"Please just tell me why," I beg.

He helps me stand back up, hooking his arms beneath my pits. Somehow we manage to make it inside, even in my crazed delirium. Elijah finds me a pillow to lay my head on, sitting cross-legged beside me on the floor. His hand reaches out to hold mine, long fingers stroking my red knuckles.

"Damon broke the rules once," He tells me under his breath, "...and it didn't end well."

"What happened?"

There is a pause, a hesitancy in his expression. He stares at my hand as he rubs the olive skin some more, and I feel his lips lightly caress my fingertips. The man sighs, shaking his head, almost unsure if he should speak the words.

"Maverick happened," The man whispers, setting my hand down hesitantly, eyes glossed and lips pointed downward. "And that's all I'm going to say."

* * *

**Author's Note:** Thank you to **LiveBreatheVampires** for editing!

**Analysis:** Well, just like the other chapters, the title really plays into what happened. There is plenty of touching! From self-touching to comfort-touching to I'm-gonna-kill-you touching, these characters need to keep their hands to themselves! So, to start off, Elena finally breaks into Damon's locked drawer. The things she finds do not really help her figure anything out, only sparking more questions. After, Damon returns covered in blood, and to Elena's displeasure, learns that he participates in the actual animal killings (maybe she was giving the man too much credit). Anyway, Elena showers and accidentally comes across her own self-pleasure. Filled with guilt, she returns to the bedroom where Damon finally expects a "favor". He only stares at her breasts, but of course the experience is extremely humiliating for Elena. She goes to be with Elijah, who comforts her. They wake to Damon handing over Elena's clothes, and later he seems irritated at the relationship, even calling Elena a whore. Finally, the big plot twist is Damon's push for Vicky's abortion. Why? Elijah only tells Elena a tiny bit, but it's enough to confuse her even more. Damon broke the rules, but where does Maverick come into it?

Thank you so much for all the love and support, as always. I hope you enjoyed! xoxo Ren


	11. To Fear

"_**To fear death, my friends, is only to think ourselves wise without really being wise, for it is to think that we know what we do not know. For no one knows whether death may not be the greatest good that can happen." ~Socrates**_

**Damon**

The secret I had Regan keep from Wes unraveled soon enough. As her belly grew, so did our lie, to the point that others would rather believe she were becoming fat than bearing a child. Even at four months, Regan could hide it well, able to mask the pain that buried itself into every inch of her body. Still, the weight gain changed her center of gravity, and soon she could not walk unless she was holding both my shoulders. She was fatigued all the time, but because she wanted this baby so badly, she forced herself to look happy as she worked in the kitchen. Unbeknownst to the others, she was screaming for relief.

I took Wes out back during lunch to finally admit the damage we were about to cause. Never had this place seen a child. It was all about the theory of sustainability, the fear of not being able to handle so many mouths to feed. But nature's slip-up when it came to Regan did not deserve the idea of abortion. Not her.

"Regan is having a baby," I told the man fearlessly.

"Dam-," He began.

"No. After the way everyone has treated her, you owe it to Regan. Every day of her life she has been ridiculed, hated, and torn apart with words. If anyone deserves to have this baby, it's her. You know it too. From day one you lost your faith in her, and you judged her just as openly."

"No children means no children. If pregnancy comes about, we must enforce the immediate terminati-"

"You touch Regan and you will not live to see tomorrow," I hissed, "No one is going to touch her, got it? She's already four months along."

"There must be consequences," He growled back.

"Then punish _me_. I will accept the consequences if that's what you need to sleep at night."

With Alaric on one side and Matt on the other, they held my arms against the wall of the house. I felt the warmth of the brick on my cheek before the belt slapped against my bare back. It tore through me, wet beads of blood and sweat dripping down as I stifled a cry. I thought of Regan and of our baby, and so it grew easier to take each blow. I lost count after eleven, but some told me it was into the thirties that Wes finally put the leather strap down. But the pain could not be worse than Regan's and so I sucked it up, even as my back burned ruthlessly.

I had Jenna clean the wounds, and she was kind enough to lend me some pain ointment before congratulating me on the baby that would be coming soon. I laughed in disbelief. I was going to be a father.

My sweet Regan never learned of the price I paid to keep the baby, but it didn't matter. The greatest amount of pain in the world was worth her happiness.

All Regan's life, she had felt inferior as a human, as an earthling. People questioned her ability to mimic our behavior and our actions. That was Regan's reality for too long. I believe that in some way, my beloved was more of a human than anyone I had ever met, and in her eyes alone the stars would freckle her corneas with their brightness. In the end, she was the greatest star the sky had ever met, and even the sun quivered at the thought of being outshined.

It took everyone some time to grow used to the idea of Regan carrying a child inside her. They stared, scowled, rolled their eyes, and some even whispered things beneath their breath. As she had always done, she kept her head lowered in submission, almost relinquishing to the elitism of those around her. Each day I needed to remind her of her validity, and to hold her in the tightest embrace of reassurance.

Although the weight gain for Regan was relatively small, in proportion to her tiny frame, it was brutal. There never seemed to be a morning where she was not in pain. Something always hurt, swelled, and ached. Six months in, and she lost her ability to walk without bursting into tears. Her gait shifted to the point that the leg braces no longer fit correctly, and undoubtedly ended her reign of mobility.

Her urinary tract was an issue from the start. The increased pressure on her bladder caused frequent urination, and many times, frequent accidents. I acted as her legs for the entirety of her pregnancy, making the endless trips to the bathroom with her in my arms. She only cried in the seclusion of our room, when the feeling of hopelessness flourished, and the ache of her back and hips became too great to bear.

"It'll all be worth it," She would sniffle, "Our baby is coming to meet us soon."

"Yes, Reg. A baby just as angelic as you."

That exquisite girl lived for the moments when the baby would kick, the moments when the baby would whoosh around inside her body. Soon bedrest became a part of her day, and the two of us would snuggle for hours before dinner. Even in all my sweatiness, I would cradle her ever-changing silhouette in my arms after work. Regan had this way of softly shutting her lids to relish in the feel of my fingertips stroking back the long strands of her beautiful blonde hair, possibly the most beautiful site a person could see.

By month seven, the female housemates were much more willing to accept Regan as she was. Jo and Jenna began to offer to help her shower, change, and keep her occupied during those long days without me there. I was used to doing the caring by myself, but some reassurance came too. In those last couple months, that is what Regan needed. Instead of being pinned to a basin, people were there to carry her back and forth from the bathroom to the bed. And her enthusiasm showed. Some nights she would just smile at nothing, but I knew the smile was for the female companionship she received in my absence. They were the closest things to friends that she had ever had.

In those long months, no touching ever grew past a few kisses and a long embrace. It was no longer important to me, not when each day I was forced to watch her clench her jaw at the pain filling her body. No, I could not be that selfish with her. Regan laid in bed at night, attempting to initiate some form of love making. She touched me as if unsure, kissed me questionably, and whispered in my ear like it was a secret. I tried to avoid all aspects of intimacy that would lead to more pain for her already weak body. She was still trying to pull me past the guilt of our last encounter that ended in her bladder infection, but I held back out of complete fear.

"When you come to our room later, I want you to close your eyes, okay?" She breathed in her long nightgown.

And so of course I did. Up those stairs, I walked barefoot with a fire, a burning excitement at her tease. Even as I reached out for the doorknob, my heart ticked nervously. I closed my eyes, pushing the door open with a great big breath. The room was silent, but I could hear Regan shift amongst the covers. Then just moments later, a soft giggle. She told me to come closer, and again I moved meticulously, reaching my hands out to feel. The laughter grew when I stumbled toward the bed, finally feeling the edge beneath my fingers.

"Hi, Damon," She whispered.

I sat on the mattress, eyes still closed. Her legs were right beside me, and I could not help but laugh. Then, a guiding hand found mine, the touch warm as it tugged me nearer to her. I felt her cheek first, which she held there for so long before planting the palm over her lips to kiss. My moves were hesitant, and the temptation to open my eyes was becoming unbearable. She used my index to trace a path from her jaw to her neck to her torso, all to feel that her nightgown was missing. I pulled away then, snapping my eyes open to look at her.

"Aren't you going to offer me the ability to feel you inside me?" She asked, her smile fading when she saw the seriousness I expressed through my features.

Regan looked unbelievably beautiful with her blonde hair draped over her swollen breasts, her lips a warm pink. She held my hand tightly, running her touch over the knuckles while she awaited my response. I watched curiously as her eyes fell and a tear rolled down her cheek. She knew already, without another second to spare that I had made up my mind.

"Reg, I-I can't," I told her softly.

She nodded, grabbing the nearest blanket to cover herself with. As I stood in the doorframe of the bathroom, I heard her muffled cries, and even when she thought I was occupied in the shower, I did not move from that spot. I listened to her disappointment, her embarrassment for trying, and her inability to understand my choice. She hid her belly under layers of sheets, throwing some over her head, even. It broke my heart.

When I finally came to join her on the bed, the sunshine from the window fell only on her body. I laid beside her, unperturbed by the mountain of blankets she had hidden herself beneath, watching her freeze when I began to peel back each one, slowly until an angel appeared. Her hands were clamped over her face, and carefully I moved to be just inches from the girl. My fingers first touched her waist, stroking the skin up and down gently.

"Please look at me, babe," I begged.

She shakily removed the blindfold of her hands, forcing those hazel circles to bore into mine. I smiled slightly to show her it was okay, but there was so much resistance in the way she looked at me. I leaned in to kiss the wetness of her cheek, and for an ephemeral time she smiled too.

"Let's clean you up." I helped her into a sitting position to throw the nightgown over her head before carrying her tiny body.

The bathroom break gave her time to blow her nose, wipe the tears away, and quickly empty her bladder. I brushed her hair for a few minutes, but Regan preferred not to show any emotion at all. She simply allowed me to carry her back to the bed, preparing herself for the dinner she would eat in the confines of that room. Instead of food, she was going to taste only my lips.

I took her by surprise, capturing her mouth with a sublime pressure that caused every hair on my body to stand straight up. She reached for my cheek, keeping me where she wanted. I fed her kiss after kiss, inching my finger under her nightgown. As I pushed the fabric up, Regan gasped, crashing her pout harder against mine, and a fire grew inside each of us, one that could only be fueled by our skin touching.

I pulled her forward enough to peel the nightgown off, returning my lips instantly to her. She received them without any question, trying to take in enough oxygen to tame the need of her desperate lungs. My fingers slid into her long locks, cradling the back of her head as my thumbs brushed her soft cheeks. Every morsel of my being wanted her in that moment. I looked down into her eyes, and our gazes were intense, fixed so easily on each other. She sat up more, opening her legs to balance the protrusion of her stomach.

Every move was effortless as I turned to sit facing her, yanking until her legs could rest on top of my thighs. She could feel my hardness press so feverishly between her legs, and it caused her to whimper in undeniable pleasure. I nearly growled, holding her just below her shoulder blades. Our child created a blockade between us, but in those moments, both of us could feel that baby together, and it only kindled the fire more. I kissed her again, keeping my hands secured behind her for support.

"Are you okay?" I panted as her fingers cautiously unbuttoned my shirt. "Can you hold yourself up?"

She nodded with a smile, and I pulled my hands away as quickly as possible to remove the crinkly fabric of my white button-down. We laughed when one cuff hung from my wrist, refusing to let go. But that laugh soon turned into a sweet gasp as I pushed myself up, sending Regan onto her back, legs still holding my hips. I bent forward, one foot on the floor, a knee keeping me on the mattress to pepper her face with kisses.

"You feel me?" I huskily urged, rubbing the crotch of my jeans against her, "That's all for you, sweet girl."

My throbbing member seemed to grow harder with every breath, with every kiss. I moved my mouth down along her jaw, down her warm neck until I could move my attention to her swollen breasts. That day, I was so placid, fearful of making her cry out in pain. To my surprise, they were more sensitive than I expected, and she had to bite her tongue to hold back a groan.

"I'm sorry," I begged, moving my lips back up to her neck.

"You could never hurt me Damon, never the way the world has. Even in death, my pain would never be from your doing," She whispered, taking a deep breath. "Can you please move my hips?"

I stamped my lips on the tip of her nose, reaching down to help shift her hips closer to the middle of the bed. She smiled before feeling for the button of my jeans. I laughed, allowing her to guide my pants down my thighs while I nipped at the skin just above her breasts, soothing the small bites with the warmth of my wet tongue. I paused as the fabric of my underwear scraped along my thick erection, paralyzing me as my brain filled with bubbles. My legs shook the remaining clothing off, kicking desperately to be free.

From deep in her throat, a moan escaped, every kick of my leg rubbing me against her most intimate region. The sensations were driving her crazy, sending her to places she could not fathom. I hovered her fully on my knees, separating her legs gently before swooping down to suckle her bottom lip. That in turn gave me time to push my fingers between her legs, slowly, almost cruelly as I skimmed over her anatomy, making sure to touch that sweet spot on her thigh again and again. She twitched in response, all over. Even her toes showed their approval, quivering at the anticipation.

"Do you feel this?" I whispered against her mouth.

My two right digits slipped inside Regan, and her muscles shook. She nodded wildly, staring right into my eyes as I curled my fingers. I whispered reassurance as her body began to react in ways she had never experienced. She just held onto the back of my neck as I coached her, breathing along with her heavy panting.

"That's it," I encouraged, pressing my thumb against the quasi-lifeless bundle hidden beneath the hood of her netherland.

She reacted to it almost immediately, digging her nails into the base of my neck and nodding. I took her lips in, repeatedly curling my fingers inside her and watching her experience the heavenly phenomenon of arousal. Then to only drive her to brink, I mimicked the act of thrusting, allowing her body to chafe the sheets just slightly. We held our gaze through the orgasm, riding the wave.

"Relax," I mouthed, "Relax. It's just you and me. Yes, baby."

My free hand grabbed hers, leading them one by one to the headboard behind her head. She gripped the wood, trying to catch her breath as I pulled my wet fingers out for just a moment, only to replace them with the tip of my cock. Regan closed her eyes, and I kissed her lips as if to remind her that I noticed. She smiled, and my arms snuck beneath her back to hold her.

"We're gonna finish this together," I cooed before pushing my length inside.

That moment, we both felt the same exhilaration that our bodies were feeding the other. She rocked her hips just slightly, but the action caused us both to stifle great moans, to desperately link our mouths together to feed the demons inside us. I began to move, pulling back before thrusting forward, grinding her clit against my erection. Every movement caused my sight to spot and made my head float in such a way that I was a soaring hawk. With the skin of Regan beneath my fingers, I skimmed every inch, believing somehow I could reach heaven along the path of her flesh.

I thrust into her with a transcendent grace, a melody that grew more demanding of its musician as time passed. We could feel the music between us, and both eagerly waited for the grand number which would reward us with an unimaginable gift. Regan's nails carved visible scratches into the wood of the headboard as I filled her, making her truly whole for just seconds at a time. We exchanged kisses, grunts, moans, breaths, and everything in between. At some point I moved to hold one of her legs under each arm, tickling the insides of her thighs until she belted achy screams of satisfaction.

"Damon," She cried, "Woah. woah, I can't-."

I struggled to hold my release in, scrunching my face in discomfort. It felt like years, every thrust more painful than the next. I held on for Regan. And when I nearly gave in, her back arched and her limbs trembled as the pleasure exploded inside her. My lips assaulted hers, my hands covering hers as they held the wood behind her. Finally allowed to let go, I tightened my hold on her hands, caressing her knuckles lightly. She could feel my arms shake, but instead of pulling away she whispered my name in encouragement. I growled, clicking my forehead to hers as it washed over me.

"You're amazing," I huffed vigorously. "You are an absolutely amazing human being."

I pulled Regan so that I could spoon her back. We laid there for a long time, still reeling and gasping from the beautiful moment that we had created. It took us a while to even speak clearly, but eventually we did.

"I was never allowed to be human," She almost laughed, her chest still rising and falling rapidly, "But then an extraordinary man rescued the banished princess from her tower. He set her free."

"Lots of reading?" I teasingly accused, kissing her earlobe.

"Yes, I swear I've read every book in Elijah's room," She snorted.

"And you know what? Rescuing her was the best decision I ever made," I chuckled, "That princess rescued me in return, and for that, Regan...I am completely and utterly grateful."

* * *

Of all the ways to embrace death, pain has to be the most feared, the most horrid to accept. Maybe every day we are dying, little by little, completely heedless to the fact that we're closer to the end than we are to the beginning. Watching the hours pass away, and each bringing more concern and fear to all our lives than the last, I learned that all along I myself was dying too, just not fast enough to keep up with Regan.

"Do you think it's the infection again?" She sobbed into my side.

"Wes is going to take of you, babe. Just like last time," I reminded her.

That dreaded urinary tract infection had come back to haunt us, in the last month of her pregnancy. I found it hard to swallow properly, thinking back to our intimate encounter, questioning the choices I had made. But Regan never regretted it, not when I explained how the infection resulted and not for a moment when I apologized. She just took my hand and smiled.

"I love you," was all she whispered before falling into a peaceful sleep.

The antibiotics worked at first. The symptoms of her bladder infection disappeared, and it relieved everyone's concerns. So, for another week I was granted Regan's presence. We used those precious hours talking and singing to our baby, sleeping, and sometimes even reading. No one could see the dark and unsettling future before us, but we preferred that. Our ignorance gave us hope. Isn't that always the way?

Then at 36 weeks, Regan woke up achy, with a fever and pale cheeks. I nearly screamed for Wes, running down that hall to find him. Tears lined my lashes, but there was so much fear that washed over me, keeping the droplets from spilling over. Nothing made sense anymore.

"Damon," He told me in my delirium, "Certain antibiotics only fight certain strains of bacteria. This may not be the same strain as her last infection. I am-."

"No. No. No," I choked, "What?"

There was disbelief and denial and concern. It seemed too unreal to be true. I may have even laughed keep myself calm, to disregard what was being said.

"Her pregnancy is already straining her kidneys. They can't handle anything more, so she will likely go quickly and it will spread to her blood soon enough."

My heart shattered. I threw my head back, brows knit, and tears streaming down my temples. Wes walked past me toward Regan's room, slowly, like each step was painful for him.

"I'm going to carry her to the capitalist city," I shouted behind him, "I'm going to save her."

He stopped, turning on his heels to look at me.

"It's too late," The man whispered, "We need to prepare for this baby's delivery. Get Regan into a cold bath to lower her fever."

The tub was made from a metal laundry bin on the shower floor filled with cool water. She was so weak, she could only tremble and squeeze my fingers to let me know it was okay. I kissed her head, unsure how to admit the fate nature had chosen.

"Reg," I whispered, "The infection is spreading."

Her eyes skittishly moved to look at me. Tears plummeted, splashing just enough to spray her collarbones. Maybe she was too tired to say anything, so she pulled my hands to her giant belly for me to feel our child once again.

"I love you," She sniffled.

Together we spent our last peaceful moments holding hands. I stroked her face before dipping my arm into the cold basin to wrap it around her bony body. The action allowed me to cradle the back of her neck so that I could look down at that sweet girl. Her eyes were rimmed with pink blotches and her lips were pale as my white button-down.

"You're going to recover. We're going to raise that baby, okay?" I hummed, kissing the chill of her trembling mouth.

Regan's heartbeat was as fast as her rapid breaths. Her body shook violently, and to the touch, her skin felt colder than death itself. Jenna helped me dry and throw her nightgown back on, but Regan cried out when I scooped her up to carry her downstairs, clinging to my shirt desperately as her limbs quivered. They prepared a table outside in the sunshine with a white sheet over it. She smiled at the warmth of the light against her skin, but the tears continued to fall.

"You're okay, Reg," I whispered through my emotion.

As soon as her body touched the table, hands grabbed at her, yanking her nightgown, moving her legs this way and that. She began to sob uncontrollably, her lips twitching harder when the reality of death set in. Her hands clawed at me, begged for me. In dying, she grew hysterical.

"Damon, I'm scared," She shrieked, panting harder to keep the air in her lungs, "I-I-I am going to die. Oh God-."

"Shhh," I hushed in tears, "Hold my hand baby. You have nothing to be afraid of."

Beneath the intense glow of the sun, her giant belly shined like an emblem, and yet I couldn't even look. My eyes remained on Regan's distraught expression. She begged me. She fucking begged me not to go. To calm her, I brushed her hair with my fingertips, kissing her burning forehead again and again.

"Damon. Damon, please don't let me go," Regan sobbed, "Please don't let me die. I want my baby. I want to meet our baby."

Her body trembled in my hold, and the sound of her wheezing lungs persisted. I had never cried so hard in my life. We sobbed together, and for a moment it felt like we were the only two people on earth. I looked deep into her eyes, hushing her. Death is daunting when we must endure it alone. There was no one to hold her hand once her heart gave out. She feared darkness, pain, and isolation. At some point I lifted her head to rest against my chest, smoothing the wet tears on her cheeks with my thumb.

"I'm sorry," I warbled, "Stay with me, baby. Just hold on, okay?"

"I-I-I've never been so afraid," She wearily whimpered, "Damon. Damon. Please just make it stop."

"Do you feel the sun, angel? You're going to be in God's warmth...J-just feel that warm sun on your skin. Let it into your pores."

"I'm gonna die. I-I can't," Regan wailed, clawing at my shirt as her tiny frame rattled against me. "Damon do something."

"Regan," I begged.

She looked into my crazed eyes. And in those last minutes, every breath was in slow motion. Even the way she thrashed was slowed to the point that I couldn't utter anything because it would never reach her in time. The girl grew limp in my arms, and her facial muscles slacked until she was no longer controlled by her body. I felt her neck snap back slightly, and the tears along her cheeks dried in the sweet heat of the sun. I began to hyperventilate, shaking her and screaming her name.

Wes took her pulse before immediately slicing into her corpse. Blood slid down the white sheets, and I was in too much shock to watch, but the brightness of that red liquid tugged my eyes to it. Yes, the sheets rustled in the wind, and for a moment, I felt the breeze whip right through my chest. I died that day, my soul flew up and away.

Some immeasurable time later, cries of a child awakened the air.

"Damon, meet your son," Jo said softly.

My head was locked on Regan's white and lifeless face. I pulled my eyes up long enough to see that beautiful angel. The little bundle was wrapped up in a green blanket, and I smiled as he fussed. His wispy hairs were blonde, his skin the same ivory as his mother's beneath the blotchy pink patches. My fingers brushed his chubby cheeks, and another round of tears hit me.

"Regan, he's beautiful," I sobbed, "Oh God. He needs you. I need you."

My fingers pulled back, and I buried my face into Regan's neck.

"I-I can't do this right now," I whispered in tears. "I can't."

They wanted me to mourn while raising a child. But it was too much, too much shock for one day. I chose to grieve my love first, and although two years later I am still learning to let go, I have not forgotten my son. If anyone could have understood the pain I felt as I watched her leave this earth, no one would have questioned my choice to leave Maverick's happiness to someone else. One day I will tell my son who I am, but for too long I have held on to that heartbreaking image of his mother's bloodied corpse left and forgotten by the same people who derided her. Yes, Regan's disheveled body had laid there beneath the glow of the sun, untouched for hours, for too long...just blowing in the wind.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Thank you very much to **LiveBreatheVampires** for editing and being an awesome friend!

**Analysis:** So Damon paid the price for Regan to keep the baby. On the other hand, since the kidneys are naturally strained by a pregnancy, Regan was ultimately unable to fight off her bladder infection. The condition is also known as urosepsis, which usually starts out as a urinary tract infection before moving to the kidneys and then into the blood. It is a very painful way to go. But to be clear, Damon never hated Maverick. For him, raising a child ALONE while mourning the death of Regan was too much. He chose to concentrate on letting go, and although it has been two years, let us give the man some credit here. Imagine having to experience that amount of trauma in such a short amount of time. He has a lot of guilt built up inside him, and a lot more animosity toward Wes and the others who never gave Regan any validity for her existence. Damon is fixated on anger to cope, but he's human...and he is allowed to cope in whatever form helps him to move on. Just as on TVD, Damon was redeemable (the first few seasons made us question that, but he came around). Damon took 150 angry, spree-killing years to get over Katherine, and thus Damon in BITW should have his 2 angry, guilt-filled years, too. It's only fair!

**Up Next:** Get ready for Delena! :)


	12. To Give

"**To give in order to receive is not to give, but to beg." ~Vikrant Parsai**

**Elena**

With Maverick between us, we run, swinging the boy by his arms through the endless expanse. The smell of freshly cut grass fills our lungs as we scream playfully, our eyes watching Alaric trim the last of the field with his mechanical push mower. There is a contagious breeze that we create by spinning ourselves in circles, and Bonnie and I chase the small boy, snatching him when we draw close enough to reach out.

"Vicky didn't want to come outside?" I ask, collapsing to the grass breathlessly.

"Elijah offered to help her move into Kai's old room since Jeremy left her stuff outside his door. What a jerk," She sighs, "I thought he would take her back. I mean, Tyler has Liv, so he can't really help her."

I nod, tearing blades of grass one by one mindlessly, "At least she has her own room now."

We stand back up, each taking one of Mav's hands. Bonnie turns to me, her brows furrowed, a smile threatening to appear. I look at her questionably, and suddenly she bursts out in laughter before pointing towards the house. She is so fearless, crossing her arms and staring at him.

"He's such a fucking stalker," She laughs incredulously.

"Bonnie," I gasp, clamping a hand over my mouth to hide my giggle.

"Look at him," She insists.

Damon sits on the steps of the back porch, resting his elbows on his thighs. He watches us emotionlessly as if he doesn't notice that we see him there. I pick up Maverick, anchoring him to my hip protectively, eyes fixed on that man across the field.

"Jenna told me he's the reason his last companion died. He killed her out of insanity, 'Lena. What a sicko," Bonnie hisses, shaking her head in disbelief.

"Regan?" I ask curiously.

"I don't know what her name was. But only a killer ready for his next meal watches people like this. I have a few choice words for him."

Bonnie is truly free of fear lately. I suppose she feels she has nothing to lose, and maybe even greater, nothing to prove. She's a survivor. No one questions that about her. I am still that shy, modest girl from the city, but not Bonnie. She has grown into something more fierce, rebellious, and strong. I glance at her with a smile. If only I could overcome my own fears, my own limitations.

"Mav, do you know that man watching us?" I ask, leaning in close to his ear.

"He watches a lot," He whispers, resting his head on my shoulder.

"What do you mean?" My brows knit together in confusion.

"He likes to play," The boy says as he twists a strand of my hair before whispering, "He is very quiet, but we play with my toys."

I crane my neck up again to look at Damon, but he is gone. It is so odd. The man despises Maverick. He despises me. How could any of this make sense? A grumpy, hateful man visits a child when no one is looking? He plays with the same child that he broke the rules for?

"Bonnie, what the heck?" I breathe.

"Seriously, that is messed up. I'm gonna tell Jo for sure," She laughs, pretending to cringe.

I contemplate whether or not to go after the man, to confront him as courageously as Bonnie would if given the chance. My eyes search left and right, waiting for him to return to the back porch until a little sticky hand presses to my cheek.

"Look," He shouts, "A bug!"

A little red critter stamped with black dots clings to his wrist. The boy giggles, leaning down to kiss it. The ladybug moves just in time to miss those strawberry-stained lips, and Maverick cheers, bouncing on my hip. I set him down again so that he can play, moving to stand beside Bonnie, who throws an arm around me.

"Have you laid beneath Damon?" She asks, tugging me closer to her.

For a moment, I have to think about it. No. The man has never hovered me like that.

"No," I tell her, "Why would I?"

She pulls away in shock, grabbing my shoulders. Her eyes are wide, and she allows her mouth to hang open.

"Well, has he touched you at all? Like naked? Or made you touch his thing?" She is so insistent that I nearly choke, stammering like an idiot.

"He's looked at m-my chest, and I-I might have seen too much of him, but he's n-never touched me naked or anything," I tell my friend nervously.

"Holy fuck," She whispers so bluntly that my stomach clenches, "He's never given you a pill to swallow? Like a white, round pill?"

"Bonnie, you're scaring me," I gasp, gently pushing her away.

"Sorry, sorry. I just can't believe he hasn't used you the way Kai used me, ya know?" She tells me before pulling me back into an embrace. "I can't stand to watch you get hurt like that."

I feel her tears through my dress, each droplet staining the floral fabric one by one. We stand together for so long, each gazing at the endless fields, the endless greenery in our sight. Mav is still infatuated with his little bug, telling it how much he loves being its friend. I smile, holding Bonnie tighter.

"I protect you, you protect Mav, and Mav can protect the ladybug," She softly breathes into my ear.

"TAG," The boy shouts, yanking on my dress, "Play tag again."

Bonnie and I finally release each other, laughing and wiping our tears away. I pat his lovely brownish blonde tendrils when he hugs my leg, refusing to let go until I agree to play.

"Fine," I shout with a giggle, snatching the child up and beginning to run with him. "Let's chase Bonnie."

The dark-haired girl screams, bolting for the house as we trail behind her. Mav shouts for me to sprint faster and I laugh, heaving as I draw nearer to my prey. Bonnie reaches a door partially hidden beneath twisted vines gripping the brick wall. There are no steps, just a door on the exterior of the house, with an interesting metal handle. I grab Bonnie's shoulder t remind her of my victory, but she stops only to look at the entrance.

"Alaric showed this to me," She mumbles, "He says it's the basement where they threw everything they didn't want in the house, like storage."

"How can someone have that much stuff?" My fingers touch the intricate vines, feeling the prickliness of the growth as I catch my breath.

Bonnie pushes the door open, ducking beneath the wiry plant before entering. Maverick and I follow closely behind, and when I look at him, his eyes are wide with curiosity. I kiss his cheek, holding his head close to my chest as I take each step down the steps to the basement. Old furniture is stacked here and there, blankets thrown over mirrors, dressers, and even paintings. It is dusty, and rather unpleasant in appearance. We walk around the secret chamber, mesmerized by all the history hidden beneath the house itself.

"Here's the best part," Bonnie shouts, sitting herself in front of some kind of table.

"W-what is it?" I ask, moving Maverick to my other hip.

"He says it makes music," She laughs, "Watch this."

Her fingers rest on the edge of the wooden block lined with white and black rectangles. She presses on some of them before a deep ring fills the room. I gasp, stepping closer. Bonnie runs her hands over the rectangles, making up random tunes. She allows me to click one of them, pushing it until something belts from the machine.

"Wow," I mumble, "This is amazing."

"People used to make songs with it. They would sing along to the notes, just like at those parades for the leader." I sit beside Bonnie on the bench, Maverick reaching out immediately to tap the buttons.

"That's it, Mav," I encourage, "Do you like the sound?"

"Alaric says it is out of tune or something, but I think it sounds nice even so."

We sit there for almost an hour, trying to replicate our childhood songs and attempting to make our own. Bonnie tells me my lyrics are morbid, about missing home, about death and sadness. No matter how hard I try, that is all that comes out. My words refer to Damon, to my hatred. Even in learning to be happy with Bonnie and Mav, I struggle with the thought of having to return to that bedroom alone. Every night I struggle with that battle.

"It has to be lunchtime by now," Bonnie laughs when she hears my stomach growl.

"You hungry, Mav?" I ask, "Your momma is gonna start to wonder where we ran off to."

The walk back is quiet, but each of us enjoys the feel of the sun and the breeze. We watch the trees sway in unison, and the birds chirp loudly as the leaves flutter down. Soon that awe morphs into exhaustion when we step up onto the same porch where Damon had watched us so tentatively. We can hear the chattering of the others grabbing their lunches, and when we make our presences known, they carry on. I take a deep breath, relieved not to be met with scowls and frowns.

"There's my Mav," Jo grins, "Thank you, Elena, Bonnie."

I nod with a small smile, allowing the woman to take him from my arms. The smile fades as the feeling of emptiness returns, and an almost sadness replaces any happiness I could feel. Bonnie moves toward the counter of food, filling her plate swiftly. I wash my hands first when I notice the black streaks along my palms. Someone stands beside me, reaching out for a plate with dark hair and a faint sweatiness. Damon. Awkwardly, I take a dish, holding it against me as I wait patiently behind him. Somehow, though unsure, only two sandwiches remain. My eyes click to the other men's plates, all with two on their plates.

I begin to back away, too nervous to think about what expression I could fake when it's my turn and no sandwiches remain. There are oven potatoes, a leafy green salad, and even some stew, but what if Damon turns around to see me pathetically waiting? What if he scowls or even laughs? I take another step backward before he swivels himself to look at me. I freeze.

"You can have it," He tells me firmly, holding it out.

"No. It's o-oka-" I try to say while shaking my head.

"Take it." So I do. I take the sandwich, setting it on my plate as he moves on down the assembly line of the counter.

My feet are trapped, and I just stand there rather dazed. For a while, I almost forget how to walk, and luckily Jo calls my name in order to break me from my trance. With a wobble in my step, I come to sit beside Damon as I always do. He never makes eye contact with me, but somehow at this moment the coldness has melted just slightly, as it had when I accepted the sandwich, enough for me to smile in front of him without fear.

* * *

Jo reassures me that she is present when Damon is in the room with Maverick. Even when I repeatedly ask why she would allow a monster to be near her child, she changes the subject. She tries to tell me how much Maverick enjoys having someone who likes his dolls too, but something about that irks me.

"He is just looking out for the boy," She smiles, "Yes, he may not say much, but I find it really sweet that he wants to be around Mav."

"We're talking about the same man here, right? The one that you told me hates children. He freaked out when Mav was in his room. I-I don-"

"Damon is still learning how to cope. Little things can upset him. That room is all he has left for himself. It is his identity, maybe even his heart, and well, some things he is just not ready to let inside."

I stare at her blankly. How does one respond to that? The woman smiles, grabbing another dishcloth. Maverick is upstairs taking a much-needed nap after all the fun he had with Bonnie and me, and even without him here I try to hold back any hateful comments I can come up with regarding Damon.

"He lost his smile for a while, but when he first held Mav, that smile returned. That little love bun gave Damon a moment of happiness that he needed," She says softly as she stacks up the clean plates.

"He's held him?" My cheeks grow tight in shock.

I try to imagine a universe with my captor cradling Maverick in his arms. Nowhere in my imagination could I fabricate an image of a monster holding an innocent child. He is too aggressive, too hateful to ever touch something so fragile.

"Whether you know it or not, Damon cares about Mav. He has always cared."

"Why would he care about someone else's child?" I ask.

"Do you not care about Mav because he's not yours?" She chuckles, "He cares for the same reason you do."

There are parts of me that want to scream at Jo for what she is saying. Of course I care about Maverick because he lives in a world of hate and fear. I feel obligated to protect him as I have protected myself since I arrived. But Damon? What reasons could justify his infatuation with a little boy whom he has shown no love for in my presence? Could trips to Mav's room be his secret, the place he always sneaks off to whenever he can no longer bear to be in the same space as me?

"I guess I get it. Thanks, Jo."

No, no I don't get it. I could never understand a monster watching Maverick play with his toys, staring, looking at him like it's his next meal, just as Bonnie had said. He has held him, watched him, played with him, and all for what? What if Bonnie is right...what if Regan was murdered by him? What if he is a psychopath as I have always believed? Maverick could be next. I could be next.

A forced smile finds its way to my lips as I begin to make my way toward the living room. Wes sits behind the glass doors of his office, which looks to have been a library long before anything else. This place is huge, with rooms and spaces I have yet to discover. Lately, I have not been in the mood to look past the main living quarters, and especially not keen on the idea of exploring the long corridor beside the staircase.

The thought of going to that lonely room upstairs is depressing. Instead, I feel compelled to return the dusty, sickening fragrance of the basement. There is something safe about that feeling of inanimate objects crowding a space rather than people. I enjoy the dust beneath my fingertips and the feeling that I may find myself trapped. At least then I could be away from Damon. I could protect myself from the hands that wish to kill me in rage. Could he do it? In the middle of the night, just reach over with sly precision and finish me off?

I run down the porch steps, walking, then nearly jogging to that hidden door on the side of the house. The sun feels hotter than it had hours ago, but I embrace the sizzling feel against my skin. It is always better to have the heat of the sun than the wrath of a monster. Out here I can escape him, hide myself away in a basement full of an extinct civilization; one of music and furniture and vanity. I rather like it. I rather like the thought of music filling the hours of my life instead of Damon's boorish silence.

The basement grows cooler as I take each step down the staircase. The planks feel unsteady, but I smile sickly as if the danger is fulfilling. The one tiny window above my head lightens the room enough for me to make out the music machine with its black and white buttons. I step over, seating myself at the bench before closing my eyes. Many people have likely sat where I am, pouring their hearts out into the music they have bottled up inside themselves. Are these people dead now? Are they phantoms which can hear me as I play?

"I'm going to go home someday," I whisper, choking up just a little.

I begin by just pressing one key over and over to create a beat. For now that is all I need. That and a tiny splash of inspiration. As I rhythmically tap the key, I sing whatever words come to my lips. Tears fall as I try to speak, my mind still set on the belief that I will escape Damon.

_**When I cry do you feel my pain?  
**__**When I beg does it feel the same  
**__**As that girl you worship in your room?  
**__**Could you imagine that I can feel it too?  
**__**The anguish that you feed me?  
**__**The fever in your veins?**_

_**You lock me away, only for you  
**__**You give me your pain, only for you  
**__**You punish me, only for you  
**__**You refuse to let me go, only for you**_

_**How many times do I need to beg?  
**__**How many times do I need to cry?  
**__**Just for me to look into your soul  
**__**And for you not to mind?**_

_**Let me in, so that I can let myself out  
**__**Let me in, so that you can say goodbye  
**__**Return me to my home, let your prisoner roam  
**__**But if anything, just anything, please, master let me go.**_

Tears burst from my eyes, and my chest shakes with potent emotion. I set my elbows onto the buttons until the entire basement fills with a cacophony of notes. If only that world existed where the lion would lay down with the lamb, where for once I could do something good in the eyes of that lion without feeling as though a traitor.

* * *

I sigh, climbing the steps up to my room again. The men returned to the fields hours ago, but the house feels too empty to be without them. Just like me, the other girls congregate in their rooms to read, nap, or just spend some time away from everyone. I enjoy glancing out the window, imagining my family still crying for their lost daughter. I imagine Micah finally eating at a table with his parents, wondering what has happened to his only sibling. Maybe even Landon is out looking for me, searching the mountains high and low for his future bride.

Damon returns home around four, always disheveled and grimy. I've grown used to it now. I suppose I don't even turn my head to look anymore because he ignores me right back, more concentrated on a hot shower than anything possibly directed toward the living girl in the room.

"What will it take for you to let me go home?" I ask abruptly, turning my head to look at him.

He goes back to what he was doing. Not even for a moment does he hesitate in ignoring me. I laugh in disbelief, moving to plant both feet on the wood. Maybe, just maybe I could get him to listen. I step toward him slowly, like an impending threat. And then I stop, my eyes staring directly at him.

"Answer me," I demand. Just like Bonnie, I will be brave. I will face my greatest fear.

Damon is stunned, and for once his face shows expression. His eyes look at mine, his lips relax, and his head cocks to one side. The message is finally penetrating that cold exterior. He can only understand me through anger. That is the language he speaks, the feeling he can translate. I can give him anger, every ounce that his flowed through my veins since day one.

"How is my will to be free any different from yours? You're a hypocrite. You enslave others but whine because the government enslaves you," I shout it, slamming my foot down.

"You are ignorant," He hisses, "You think that government is so wonderful. You think that fucking government gives you all the freedom you could desire. And for that you are ignorant."

"You think this place is some fairy tale. You're just as delusional."

His black tousled locks fall to one side. He rubs the back of the head in frustration, pacing left and then right.

"I never said the system wasn't flawed," The man defends.

"What will make you let me go, huh? Do you want me to lie beneath you naked? Do you want me to touch you? Do you want me to let you run your hands over my chest?" I shout, "What do you want from me? Stop keeping me as your slave, hypocrite. Neither of us wants me here and you know it."

"I want nothing from you," He barks, storming off to the bathroom.

"Good. Leave," I shout.

Quickly, I grab my cardigan, rushing out the door and slamming it. Walking down the long hall, I try to settle the racing of my heart, gasping at the adrenaline of my confrontation. Elijah hears me mutter his name through the door, opening it to allow me in. Not even three steps in and the man pulls me into a hug, swinging the wooden door shut. He takes a big breath and sighs into my hair.

"I'm glad you came," Elijah coos.

For some time, I stand in his arms to listen to his heart thump against my ear, hoping to maybe slow mine to the same pace. He offers me his bed, but I remain silent, closing my eyes to only be comforted by his hold on me.

"Let me move in with you," I whisper in tears.

"Dam-"

"I don't care what he thinks, Elijah. He is just keeping me there for no reason. He even admitted it."

Finally tired of standing, I lift my head to look at him with a soft smile. He leads me to the bed before helping me to lie on it. With the hope that he would join too, I roll over. He sits, and secretly a smile spreads across my lips. Then nervously, I stand on my knees, leaning in to wrap my arms around him.

"I want to stay with you until I find a way to go home," I tickle into his ears.

"Elena," He nearly whines, "This place is the reason I left home in the first place."

"Well, I didn't get any choice at all." He turns back just enough to gently grab me, sliding me onto his lap.

I climb so that I can sit facing him on his lap. He smiles, burying his nose into my neck. My hands hold his shoulder blades as I giggle, and the man pulls me tightly against him.

"Whatever husbands and wives do, I want to do it with you," I mumble, "Not Damon. Please just don't let Damon do that to me."

"Elena, I can't," He tells me softly, a flicker in his voice, "It is not for me to do, okay? Damon is your companion, not me."

I feel him wipe my tears away, curling a finger under my chin for me to look at him.

"Please. Let me move in with you. I'll do whatever you want me to," I whimper, "I just can't stand him any longer."

"Damon would kill me. Not to mention the indignity," The man explains, "You know that I would in a heartbeat, Elena. I just can't do this the way you want me to."

"Elijah," I sob, "Please. Show me what husbands and wives do."

He softly pushes me away, his eyes expressing his hesitance to say anymore. With tension in his jaw, he turns his face away to show that he has reached his limit with me. I'm not sure if it's a sign that I should leave, but it burns even so.

"I can't. You need to go back to him. He'll come looking for you."

So I return to that horrid room, and atop the sheets I curl myself, closing my eyes and using the whoosh of the shower to help my mind to drift. Damon leaves me to go to dinner, but it gives me time to purge my emotions. For so long I cry, using the pillow to dry my tears. Even when he returns, I close my eyes to make him believe I am under the spell of sleep, but I can feel his eyes on me, even without seeing him.

The bed vibrates with his every step, and as he nears, the frame shakes harder. I stay impossibly still, letting my mouth hang open as it always does when I sleep. He hovers for a moment before I feel him drape a blanket over me, the subtle weight pressing down on my olive skin. Just one finger pushes my hair back onto the pillow behind my head, a feeling that sends shivers all across my skin.

"I do want you here," He whispers.

A metal object clinks against the wood of the bedside table, where he places something. I want to open my eyes so badly, to reach out and feel whatever it is. But then again, those words. He wants me here? I have to force myself not to sit up and slap him. What the heck is he saying to me? After everything, how can he say something completely contradictory to his actions. The blanket, the hair touching, the plea for me to stay. It is all too absurd.

I wait for him to prepare for bed, clamping my jaw in order to prevent myself from giving away my cover. But as he climbs in beside me, I take it as permission to see what he has left on the table. My eyes adjust to the light of the lamp, and there it is; my ring, the one Landon gave to me as a promise of our future marriage. I believed for so long that I would never see it again, that Damon had thrown it into the fields of manure for all of eternity.

Softly, my fingers reach out toward the gold band, and for once, my captor, my monster has given me hope again; a hope that maybe there is a way out of here, and maybe, just maybe it is through his black and barren heart.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Thank you to **LiveBreatheVampires** for editing!

**Analysis:** So Elena offers to "give" something to two male characters this chapter in the hopes of receiving something in return. She is just so desperate, begging Damon to let her leave while begging Elijah to help take her away from Damon. We learn a lot about Damon's continual involvement in Maverick's life over the years, which of course is a little shocking to Elena who has witnessed Damon's animosity toward the boy, and since she is still unaware that Damon is Mav's father, it is even more mind boggling. She and Bonnie discover a piano in the basement, which later on Elena uses to express her anguish. Damon shows some affection that may have come across as hostile, but for him, his actions are a step in the right direction. He gives her one of the last sandwiches, returns her ring, and lays a blanket over her. Likely the best moment for Delena? Damon's admission that he does want her to be there with him. Still, Elena wasn't supposed to hear him say it, but she did, and she hopes that by making Damon like her, she can eventually convince him to let her go home.

Thank you so much for the love and support. I always appreciate the motivation to keep on writing! xoxo Ren

P.S. The lyrics? All original...and 100% from the heart!


	13. To Believe

"_**To believe with certainty we must begin with doubting." ~Stanislaus Lescynski**_

**Damon**

As I held him in my arms, an orange glow enveloped our two bodies. At first I was unsure about my decision to leave the safety of my bedroom, hesitant to meet the son that Regan had left behind. But I brought myself to open the door, to walk down the hall with a heavy heart, to knock on Jo's door, and to seat my shaky body on a chair. It took every ounce of strength I had, and it was painful, but I had to do it. My eyes nervously watched as she carried him towards me. His umbilical cord was still beginning to shrivel up, but all I could notice was how small he looked, and as she handed him to me, he began to cry.

"I-I don't think he likes me," I stammered, pulling my hands back.

"It's okay, Damon," Jo assured me, laying him against my chest, "Just make sure to hold his head."

I adjusted his little body until he was nestled in my arms, until I could look down at his tiny scrunched up nose. His cries began to die down as I whispered softly to him, stroking the wispy hairs along his scalp. I smiled at the feel of his warmth. I smiled at the thought of Regan watching us. I even smiled at the realization that _I _was his father. He was my flesh and blood.

"Hi, baby," I laughed in tears. "I'm your dada."

Something begged for me to close my eyes, to listen to the soft breaths of my son. I held him tightly and protectively and with a gentle warmth that I had grown to learn from Regan. Sobs filled my chest, tears splattering my shirt.

"I love you." That was all I could tell him.

There was nothing left to say to a boy who would have to watch his father slowly wither away with the seasons. For him, maybe it was best if I stepped back to allow him to blossom into something great. Without Regan, I no longer could nurture such things as greatness. Everyone knew that once my grief morphed into anger, I would never be able to give Maverick what he needed. It would come soon, the guilt and the hatred, and with a baby there to watch it all, I would inadvertently break him.

A white cloth diaper hugged his little tush, which overtime grew heavier and heavier. Jo giggled as she watched my face turn to horror. She carefully scooped him from my arms, and I let her, my body still trembling so violently in my nervousness.

"I just fed him a little while ago," She told me with a smirk.

I learned months later that Wes had sent Matt and Alaric to the capitalist city to steal lactation-inducing drugs. They found it easier than stealing container after container of baby formula. The drugs were simpler, lasted longer, maybe even felt more natural to us all. And so Jo's breast became Maverick's food, a replacement for the mom who had been buried beneath the ground seemingly so long ago, and I cried at the very mention of the word 'mother', of the person Regan was destined to be for her baby.

Holding my son for the first time planted a seed inside my heart, and as he grew so did that seed, sprouting one day and never stopping. I came to visit every few days, between the episodes of hallucinations and voices that continued to haunt me since her death. As the anger finally poisoned my veins eleven months later, I began to watch more from a distance, visiting... but only in silence. I did not feel worthy enough to be his father. Wes fell into the role so easily, and as I realized his talent, I stopped trying. My anger and jealousy turned to him, to the irony of his actions. He was against the very idea of Maverick even being born, but only until it gave him the chance to become a father.

Heartbreakingly, It has been years, and somehow I still do not understand Wes's disregard for Regan. Maybe all along it was his hatred for me, and maybe Regan was his way of justifying it. I could never be the father Maverick needs. My son does not deserve to be punished with a grieving father, a man still seeing his dead lover everywhere he goes. He does not deserve to grow up feeling forgotten or unloved, because with Jo and Wes, he never will. I hope if Maverick somehow remembers being held by a very sad and broken man, he does not feel that that man never loved him, because in truth, there was never any doubt.

I had loved Maverick long before he was born. And it is because I love him that I needed to let him be raised by someone else. It doesn't mean that it was easy. It has never been, but when Maverick was born, I was no longer fit for the role. And even though it was ultimately my decision, my heart still fills itself with anger and sadness every time Maverick refers to Jo and Wes as 'mother' and 'father'.

I was there to hold his little hands as he took his first steps, to kiss him as he babbled, and to wipe away his tears as his teeth began to stab through his gums. In those moments, I felt closest to the man I was before Regan's end. It felt refreshing to forget the pain of losing my first true love. But when the anger came, and the thought of smiling became too much, I chose to watch. The visits shortened, and eventually I am sure Maverick forgot who I was. He only saw me for the hurt etched into the crevices of my face. Yes, I began to be someone the boy could no longer recognize, someone dark and haunted.

"I n-need frames for her pictures," I begged Jo.

She held Maverick out to me, but only tears slid down my cheeks, and I shook my head. At that moment, even Jo understood what it meant. I was choosing to let my son grow up without a monster for a father.

"In the basement. There are plenty of nick nacks down there," She whispered, her eyes trying to search my face for emotion.

I had once found a camera in that basement, the same model as Verity's all those years ago. Regan was not thrilled at the thought of me photographing her. Because she was unhappy with herself, she nearly cried when she realized I would be able to keep the image forever. But eventually she gave in, and outside in the grass I took her picture. The things I said made her laugh, and so something even more genuine came across in the images that that camera captured.

While searching for those picture frames as Jo had directed, I found something even greater. A machine that played music. The notes sounded like angels singing, and as I fooled around with the black and white rectangles, I wanted nothing more than to remain down there for hours. It soothed my broken heart long enough that I did not have to hold back my feelings. No, for some immeasurable time, I did not have to be cold or withdrawn, and it felt riveting.

After that day in the basement, I returned to Maverick again. The music brought me back to him, and even two years later, I still come into his room, a mysterious man with a sad smile and a hollow heart. He plays with his toys on the rug with me, but I remain silent, just softly gazing at the way his lips form to create a sweet giggle, the sight of those piercing blue eyes and that ivory skin. So much of Regan is inside him, radiating, and it is truly breathtaking.

Today, as I always do, I leave Elena to go be with him, and as I walk, I rub my thumb over the little toy figurine that had been hidden in my locked drawer for far too long. It seems someone would have a better use of the little man made of wood and metal than a monster like me who stole it in the first place. I do hope Maverick can someday understand that I was always here with him, that my heart still tugged me to that room each week just to see how much more he would begin to look like his mother. Maybe this toy will remind him of that.

"I need to see him," I tell Jo when she opens the door.

"Of course." The door swings open as I step inside, my shoulders awkwardly slouched forward.

The boy's eyes click up to look at me curiously. I try to smile, but it feels as though little weights have been hung from the corners of my lips. Instead, I simply sit on the floor in front of him silently. He watches me, scanning my features meticulously before turning his attention back to his dolls. As he giggles and positions his figurines, I slowly lead my hand out to him. He takes the wooden and metal toy from my palm with a gasp.

"My toy!" He shouts with glee.

I stay for a while, watching his smile grow as he showers his lost doll with love and care. He even rocks it like a baby in his arms, the same as I had done for him. Some day Wes and Jo will tell him about me, and is it too much to ask that I ask to be remembered for the man I was before everything went to hell? If anyone should believe I am a decent human, I do hope that that person is Maverick. I hope they tell him I had the capacity to love him, but that my mind was too tortured to express it in the way I should have. I hope they tell him more about Regan than about me because any person would have been lucky to have had her for a mother.

"You wook sad," A small voice squeaks.

I look up at him, nodding. "I am sad."

"Why?" He imitates a game of tag with his dolls, making noises with his mouth to go along.

"I lost my love," I whisper while picking at my cuticle.

"Like my dollie? You wost her?" Maverick knits his eyebrows together.

My son never lost his wooden toy. I stole it. I stole it with the same ease that came with taking Elena. I take things from people to make myself feel less empty, as if holding something out of their reach allows me to feel power. For once, with Maverick especially, I want to return the control to him so that he may not feel that his father was dominating him. I need to start relinquishing this aching need...I need to learn to survive without hurting others.

"Yup," I tell him in simple terms, taking a deep sigh.

"We will find her. Where did she go?"

"She went to be with the angels."

His eyes grow, the blue ringlets gazing back like a reflection. If only he could realize how much he looks like his father, how much Regan would have adored our similarity.

"She an angel?" I wish to tell him about his real mother because if any human were qualified to be so pure and celestial, Regan would be first in line.

"Yeah," I nod, "She's a beautiful angel."

He goes back to his toys again, so oblivious to the pain of the world. His mind has yet to know hatred, to feel true sorrow, or to understand anguish. I push a hand through my dark locks with sigh. Just like his mother, he is an innocuous soul, one who will learn the evils of human beings, whose purity will be tainted by bigotry and hate and cruel intentions. We are all victims of such things, all free of burden until the world feels we are ready to finally taste the bitterness of life.

"Bye, Mav," I whisper in only a small breath.

I move toward the door, returning the mask of apathy for everyone outside that door to see. Maybe that is the secret I share only with my son. Sometimes only the innocent can view beneath the disguise, and I very much like the thought of that. My heels click against the floorboards, and I create a rhythm as they step back toward my bedroom. I yawn, turning the knob before entering.

To my surprise, Elena is already dressed. She stands by the full-length mirror beside the closet door, brushing her hair up into a stubby ponytail. I go on my way, moving toward the bathroom until her voice stops me in my tracks.

"T-thanks for giving my ring back," She says from across the room.

I nod lethargically, resuming my steps, only to be stopped again by her words. It even causes me to turn around, to stare at her blankly.

"Did you mean it when you said that you wanted me here with you?" Almost timidly, she asks me, her head slightly bowed and her toe nervously tapping the floor.

It takes me aback, so much so that I am speechless for almost a full minute. The awkwardness grows between us until finally I force myself to say something.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I tell her, pinching my lips together.

My heart starts to beat fast against my chest. I don't like to be caught off guard. I like to keep my mask of apathy on at all times, and yet somehow Elena managed to catch me without it.

"You...you said last night that you wanted-"

"You heard what you wanted to hear," I spit defensively.

I could never admit those words to her because my mind does not know what it wants. It speaks without my permission, it tells secrets as if I am too occupied to notice. She looks at me angrily, completely flabbergasted.

"I know what I heard," She shouts, "I know what I damn-well heard."

As of late, Elena has begun to blossom. She fights back with more fire than I could ever feed her in return. She now watches me, stares me down, steps closer in a threatening stance of confidence whenever we have a quarrel. It almost feels unreal losing a certain degree of control over her, well, because from the beginning I flourished off it. Somewhere deep inside, I fear this loss of authority. Then as the fear settles, I realize that her rebellion in a way makes me feel alive. It awakens something, something I do not feel ready to take on.

"Keep telling yourself that," I grumble, fleeing the room.

My feet storm down the staircase and into the kitchen without another thought. I push past people, moving toward the sound of thunder in the distance. Alaric is right behind me as I march toward the back porch, and he barks my name, but nothing he does stops me from reaching the door.

"Damon, I don't think it's safe to go out there right now," He shouts.

My thoughts are in another world completely, and so I take the careful steps down the porch and into the pounding rain. The fields are spotted with dark puddles, almost as dark as the sky above. Even with thunder roaring all around, I keep my mind on Regan, lazily stepping through the wet mud. I can barely see ahead of me through the density of the rainfall, but by now I know the path to her grave well enough without any sight at all. The lightning illuminates the sky every few moments, creating white branches of light to reach out for the earth below.

I tread through the wet squishy ground, sinking more with every step. A laugh belts from my lips as I yank on the fabric clinging to my body. There is surely no going back now. It's either death or Regan's grave, and both excite me to no end. I push my drenched locks back with a hand when I come to feel the familiar wooden cross staked into the ground.

"Not even a raging storm could keep me away," I tell her mournfully.

Rain batters my shoulders as I speak, droplets cascading from every inch of my body.

"Thanks to this nasty weather, I get the day off from the fields. And what better way to spend the day than by being with you?"

My voice suddenly breaks, and I try my hardest to keep the tears back. And the emotion this time is not out of anger at the world, but rather anger at myself.

"He's growing up so fast, Reg. I-I will never be enough for him," I whimper, "I know you think I am, but I'm not. I will never teach him to be a man, because I'm not one myself. Before I met you I was a boy, and you know what? I became a man the day I met you, but I never kept up with that duty, and so I lost my ability to remember what being a good man means. Coward, Regan, that's what I am."

A crack of thunder envelopes the entire sky, and I grip her cross in tears, falling to my knees. I kiss the top of the wood again and again, sobbing her name. My bottom lip begins to quiver from the cold, and I begin to pant to keep my body warm.

"I could love him as much as you," I sob, "I could. I could give him that same love that I filled your heart up with, but I c-can't, not until I let you go. Why can't I let you go? Why?"

As the rain begins to cease, I hold the wooden cross, letting the salty tears wash away too. I close my eyes, and I wait for the petrichor to fill my senses, for the chirps of birds to signal the end. There is so much hate inside of me, filled to the brim, and with the passing of each day, I wait for it to leave my body, to be replaced with something as potent as love. They say it can change even the greatest evils, maybe even me. I'm still waiting, each day I wait for someone to rescue me from myself before I can push them away. That is my curse. I push away the heroes that Regan always read about in her books. Never would she have imagined that I would be the monster in need of saving, because to her I was the epitome of a true hero, one that ironically ended up failing her in her greatest plea for survival.

"When Mav grows up, I'll still be this pathetic man. That is the saddest part of all."

I pull my knees up to my chest, and just sit completely drenched on the grass.

* * *

The air is cool and empty now, and I hear someone's steps squeak into the wet ground, but I refuse to lift my head. It feels like too much effort. The figure sits beside me, sinking himself into the soaked earth. He sighs, something clinking inside his bag.

"I hope you like bourbon...it's all I have left in my stash," Alaric laughs as he takes out the glass bottle along with two huge tin cups.

There is no reaction from me, just a deafening silence that would push any sane person away. He smiles like I am the best man on the earth, pouring the bronze liquid into each cup with care. I watch him take a long breath in through his nose, releasing it slowly between his lips.

"I love how you begin to believe that the storm will never end." He hands me a metal cup, clinking his against mine. "And then finally it does, and then you realize how silly you were for thinking that something so horrible could go on forever."

I gulp the toxic liquid, allowing it to sear my throat as it washes down. We both look up at a flock of geese passing overhead, and somewhere in that action, I take a deep breath too, just as Alaric had. Maybe the storm destroying me inside will cease. I only wish that I could believe such relief could come to me.

"If Elena is too much for you to handle, don't be afraid to tell Wes," The man says softly.

"Wes doesn't care. He's just happy she's not damaged...everyone is glad too."

No one can deny this truth. From the beginning people felt that Regan threatened their sense of normalcy and in some respect made them feel uneasy. Maybe they preferred that she died, that two years later she would be replaced with someone as nonthreatening as Elena. People are afraid of what they don't know, of things that they do not understand. Just as they were taught back in the city, disability was as close to being inferior as one could get. For some reason, being anything less than ordinary made a person unworthy of the government's charity. And even here, that belief was still ingrained into their minds like a brand. Almost by accident, nature made me blind to her differences, and so I was one of the few who could appreciate her contribution to this world.

"We all came to love her, Damon," He says before taking another sip.

"I doubt that, but hey, if Regan died believing that she was accepted by her housemates then good," I mumble.

My wrist tips the large cup of bourbon back until I can chug the rest down like a crazed loon. Alaric watches me in concern, as if he is unsure whether or not to intervene. He can spot an irredeemable man from a mile away, and yet he yearns to try saving me. I was once one of his best mates...until the weight of the world slowly crushed my sanity.

"Like I said, if you're not up to having Elena in your room anymore, we'll help you out."

"And then what? Give her to Luke?" I scoff.

"Nobody said that. We're just trying to help you, man."

I push myself onto my feet, leaving the metal cup on the ground beside Alaric. He calls after me as I stumble away, water still dripping from my clothing. I shake some of it off before wandering back toward the house. My boots squeak again and again, even when I step into the house and even when I climb the never-ending steps up to my bedroom. I imagine a warm shower and dry clothing and a cozy bed to swaddle me like a child as I allow the alcohol to wear off.

Elena sits against the headboard with a book in her hand. Already she seems irritated at my presence, pissed that I have returned. The girl keeps her eyes on the pages as I dig through my dresser and then again when I pass her to move into the bathroom, but I feel her gaze follow me nonetheless. I go on to change into something more dry and comfortable before coming back into the bedroom. Elena curses at me with her eyes as I recline myself beside her on the bed.

"You sure frown a lot," She snidely remarks. "You know it takes more muscles to frown than to smile. That's why my fat Aunt Florence is so jolly. Maybe you could learn something from her."

I nearly choke on my own spit. In shock, I look over at her eyes, which are fixed on her book. Laughter bubbles up my chest suddenly, and for some reason I can't stop. My deep chuckle fills the room. It is completely uncontrollable, but I must admit that I haven't wanted to laugh so hard in a very long time. The feeling is addicting, and the harder I laugh, the funnier her words become when I think back to them. She stares at me in annoyance, turning the page of her book and clenching her jaw to keep back a snarky remark.

"Oh gosh," I hysterically chuckle, gripping my aching abdomen.

"Stop laughing," She commands, but it only doubles my laughter.

"Fr-frowning is h-how I stay so fit," I snort.

Maybe I am drunk or maybe my body is finally relishing in the feel of genuine laughter. Either way, there is no stopping the smile that comes to inhabit Elena's face. She tries to hide it, but it is there. For a while she even pretends to read her book, trying so hard not to belt out. Then finally I hear a faint giggle, and when she knows that she has been caught, she allows the parade of them to follow.

* * *

**Author's ****Note:** Thank you so much to **LiveBreatheVampires** for being a wonderful beta! She is the best!

**Analysis:** A lot of Damon's inner thoughts were revealed in this chapter. As the chapter title will have it, Damon believes that leaving Maverick in the care of Wes and Jo was in his son's best interest. Of course this decision also brings some jealousy, regret, and even fear for Damon, who continues to try balancing his life between grieving Regan and spending time with his child. He somehow manages, but over time begins to drift more and more as Maverick grows older. This may begin to fester as Maverick becomes more cognitive and aware of his surroundings, forcing Damon to almost hide his identity from his own son. He hopes watching from a distance will keep him from interfering in the child's life, or possibly stunting his full potential out of pity for his broken father. Well Elena is pissed when Damon denies what was said to her the night before. Damon also gets drunk with Alaric, who tries convincing Damon to give up Elena. We as the readers are not the only ones who realize that Damon isn't the best roommate in the world. Then in Damon's heavily alcoholic state he returns to the bedroom where Elena snidely remarks something about frowning, which causes Damon to burst into laughter. In the end, they share a good laugh, even if he is three sheets to the wind!

Thank you so much for your support! xoxo Ren


	14. To Try

"_**To try to make somebody love you is as hard as to try to walk on snow leaving no footprints." ~Vikrant Parsai**_

**Elena**

"Elena, grab him," Jo laughs as I chase after the bare tush scampering away.

I snatch the boy up with a smile, tucking him under my arm like a pillow. He screams playfully before trying to wriggle his way out of my hold. For a moment he believes he has won, but to his surprise, his tush lands on the toilet seat again.

"Now you're going to be a good boy and tinkle on the big boy potty, right?" I smirk.

"No, 'Lena," He shouts, crossing his arms with a huff.

"Do you want to stay in baby diapers forever?"

He looks at me shyly, blowing spit bubbles with his little mouth. It seems hopeless and he just stares at me swinging his legs forward and back in boredom. Jo tries to bribe him with promises of food, but he shakes his head. Then tears sprout from his eyes when it is obvious he wants nothing more to do with it. I hug him, kissing his soft chubby cheeks.

"We can go play tag with Bonnie if you go potty," I offer.

My knees ache from squatting for so long, and I can feel the sweat along my back slowly begin to saturate my dress. He looks up at me with those big blue eyes and a smile that spreads from ear to ear. I nearly jump up in pure joy at his sudden agreement.

"Tell me a story first," He mumbles.

"What do you say to Elena?" Jo asks him.

"Pwease," Maverick begs.

I have to think for a moment. There weren't many stories our mothers told us as children. To be honest, I am not sure why. Maybe out of fear? Or maybe out of a need to keep our imaginations limited to the realities at hand. There was no time to be thinking up fantasy when the world called for your loyalty and your obedience. It kept us in check, I suppose.

"There was a lonely girl who lived in the sunshine, and wherever she went, the sun would follow. She traveled the lands to bring light to the people stuck in the darkness. But she learned quickly that she was only showing these people something they could never have after she moved on to the next town. So, the people began to hate the sunshine because they had only ever known the darkness," I whisper, moving my hand to play with his soft tendrils.

"But the sun so pwetty," Mav insists, and I smile, nodding.

"Yes, but the people were scared to love the light because they would never see it again after the girl left them. They were offered something that they couldn't have, like when your momma offers you a cookie, but there aren't any left."

"Keep going," The little boy giggles.

"The girl became sad and instead of the sun, a rain shower followed her everywhere she went. The rain made her shiver and cry all the time. She was sad. But you know what, Mav? There was a boy who was covered in black sunflowers. All his life he had lived in the darkness and could never understand how his flowers were always dead."

"Yucky flowers." I nod, and even Jo cannot help but laugh along.

"Naturally, he was attracted to the rain that the girl carried, and so he followed her for years, watching his flowers multiply, but for some reason they never bloss-"

The sound of liquid splashing the toilet water stops me from continuing. I clap, Jo cheering behind me. Mav smiles bashfully, covering his face as I begin to pepper kisses all over his cheeks.

"Finish," He whines, pushing my face away.

"Okay, well the flowers needed sunshine, but the girl was too sad to have the sun follow her. Then one day the boy told her how much her rain had done for his flowers. He kissed her, and the rain stopped and the flowers suddenly came alive when her sunshine returned."

"Ooooh," The boy bellows.

"Finally her light made someone happy. You see, not everyone wants to see the sun, Mav. Some are stuck in the dark, and the thought of being in the light is scary. But just as the girl, he didn't realize how important the light was to his own happiness. You should help people be happy by being kind. They may not realize it, but they need happiness to come out of the darkness."

"Wow," He shouts, "Oh 'Lena. You the sun."

The boy hugs me, but in it I am hesitant. Had he noticed the raincloud that followed me in the first months here? Had I abandoned the raincloud for the sun and not noticed? Something clicks inside me, and I smile, squeezing him tighter.

"And you're a beautiful sunflower," I whisper, pulling away to help him off the toilet.

"TAG," He laughs, bouncing up and down.

"You need some pants," I giggle.

"And a nap," Jo insists, "You can play tag with Elena and Bonnie after."

Maverick begins to whine, yanking on my shirt as Jo steps forward to take him into his room. I am quick to help out the mother by handing her son over, but he cries in a tantrum, choosing to bang his tiny fists against Jo.

"Elena doesn't want to play with a grumpy Mav."

"Yeah. Bye, buddy. We'll play real soon." I stand up to kiss his forehead before Jo takes him away.

His cries can be heard all the way from the hall, and in a way it is disheartening. I indolently straggle back to my designated bedroom, dragging my heels and carefully avoiding the small cracks between the wood panels of the floor. It is the closest thing to a game I can think to play on my own. Maybe after dinner I can convince Bonnie to play tag with Maverick again, but for now, I'll have to occupy myself for the two hour resting period before the last meal of the day. Damon hides out somewhere other than our room. That hasn't changed at all.

I decide to head for the bathroom before choosing my next novel to begin. Elijah is always recommending the best stories for me to try out. Some are about adventure, others about love. These books help me to escape this reality, and maybe even encourage me to have an imagination. I like the thought of drowning myself in a fantasy full of brave handsome men and creatures that lurk around every corner. Instead, I am stuck here in a world I do not belong. If not for the good people I have come to love, I would be completely broken in spirit. Yes, Maverick, Bonnie, and even Jo make this place bearable, but more than anything I need to be with my family. My true home.

"Shoot," I hiss, accidentally dropping the hairbrush.

Strange noises come from behind the bathroom door of Alaric and Jenna's room. Only now do I realize them, my shaky legs stepping closer. I set the brush down and kneel in front of their door with caution. Bonnie's soft voice is a muffle through the wooden barrier, but I cannot ignore the oddity of the grunts and heavy breathing.

"That's it," Jenna muses, "Just squeeze my hand. You're okay."

With a quivering hand, I reach up for the doorknob, twisting it and listening as it softly creaks when I pull. My breath catches in my throat, and my cheeks grow tight with fear. In the dim light of their room, Bonnie lays naked on the mattress beneath Alaric's equally nude body, while Jenna stands on her knees beside the bed in her green and blue dress. Jenna's hand holds Bonnie's as Alaric pushes his hips forward, disappearing behind Bonnie's raised thigh. I am trembling with tears in my eyes. My friend had told me the horror of lying beneath a man, the pain and the torture with which she had to endure with Kai. Alaric's hands roam her body, Bonnie grunting in pain.

"Bonnie," I scream, throwing the door open. "Get off of her."

My shrieks grow when no one moves, not even Bonnie. She tries to say something, but in my hysteria, I can only cry out for someone to help. Feet scamper into the room, eyes turning from the bed, back to me. Jenna and Alaric cover Bonnie's body with a blanket before Alaric shields himself from the new spectators that line the walls.

"They're hurting her," I bark, but my desperation is only met with blank stares.

The silhouettes of my fellow housemates remain frozen in the doorway, and two sets of hands grab me, one is Lexi's, the other is Jo's. I quiver in their holds, begging them to help Bonnie. They hush me, keeping my arms restrained as Wes finally finds his way in.

"Elena, Bonnie's fine. Shh...they weren't hurting her," Lexi tells me over and over.

"No, no," I scream, gasping for air as my nose fills with mucus.

My eyes wildly search the room, until finally I cannot stand another moment in this dark, horrific place. I tear my arms away from the two women, bolting back through the bathroom, into my bedroom, and out through the hallway. My mind is too crazed to think straight, and as I begin my descent of the staircase, I slam against a hard wall of muscle. The man grabs me as I try to fight to get past him until my chest physically shakes with emotion.

"What the hell?" He hisses, leading me by my arm back toward the bedroom hastily.

He notices the commotion through the open doors, pulling me there before demanding an explanation. I fall to my knees in despair when everyone points the finger at my disheveled appearance. My head sinks as Damon cranes his neck to look at me.

"Damon, this behavior is unacceptable," Wes protests.

"I know," The raven-haired man tells him with a frustrated sigh. "And I'll fucking take care of it. Now everyone get the hell out."

He grabs my hand. "Get up."

"Please don't hurt me," I beg.

"Get up." He says it again, but this time with even more assertion.

I comply, scrunching my face to sob harder. Together we walk back through the conjoined bathroom, where Damon slams each door as we pass them. By now I know what a punishment entails, and in that acknowledgement I begin to pant, holding my chest. He seats me on the edge of the bed, on his side near the window. Reaching behind him for something on the desk, he sits to face me. The longer I wait for him to say something, the worse the anxiety becomes.

"Aren't y-you going to punish me?" I stammer.

He rests his right ankle on his left knee to balance a pad of blank white paper, adjusting the notebook again and again. Next he grabs some kind of pen, creating short, light strokes on the paper before looking up at me.

"Your punishment is to sit still," He says bluntly, continuously clicking his eyes up at me for just a moment before moving them back to the paper.

I am still shaking, my breaths short and haggard. Thoughts of Bonnie induce streams of tears to trail down my cheeks as I attempt to hold back the blistering wails. How could Alaric do that to Bonnie, after all that she has been through? Why must everyone hurt the most broken of us all?

"I said stay still," Damon growls, but my body can do no such thing, not after what I have seen.

"Where's Elijah? I-I need to see him," I warble, bunching the sheets up into my fists. "I need Elijah."

"Elena, I'm not going to ask you again." His face turns cold and stone-like.

"At least let me see Bonnie."

Damon's pencil strokes grow harsh, and he stares at the pad in his lap with complete concentration. I move my hand to brush the tears from my eyes, surprised when he slams the notebook onto the floor in rage.

"For fuck's sake," He spits, standing to tower over me.

I do not even know what to say to him. The man clenches his jaw, walking toward the door, opening it enough to pass through, and then proceeding to slam it. Finally I allow my chest to purge with long cries and rumbling whimpers. My eyes click to the floor where the outline of my face rises out of the paper. I try to catch my breath, softly choking on my tears.

The door creaks open again, and instead of Damon there is Lexi. Behind her, Jo steps inside, clicking the door shut before walking towards me. I shudder.

"Elena, sweetheart, Damon asked us to come have a short girl talk with you, okay?" Lexi smiles, disappearing into the bathroom.

Jo comes over with a soft grin, reaching her hand out to rub my back. I snort back the congestion in my nose, using my forearms to smudge the wetness of my cheeks.

"Come sit here," She says softly, helping me up.

The woman moves the desk chair to the more open nook by the window before telling me to sit. Lexi returns with my hairbrush, a moist washcloth, and a nose rag. The two women's eyes meet, and I watch the blonde nod slightly. Jo begins brushing back my hair, while Lexi kneels in front of me with the washcloth, pushing the nose rag into my palm for me to use.

"What you saw was not what you thought." Lexi presses the wet cloth up to my forehead, sliding it around to soak up the tears still covering my skin. "Those were consensual acts, Elena. Bonnie agreed to them."

"No, no," I cry, only to be hushed by both women.

"Back in the city they did not tell you about what men and women do together, okay?" Jo adds. "They will do certain things with each other, but it's nothing to be afraid of. What you saw was how Mav was created."

"T-they want a baby?" My words are nothing more than babbles.

"They could but they don't want one, and because of that, Bonnie will take a special pill to make sure she doesn't. Some people engage in intimacy simply because it feels good to them, sweetie," Lexi tells me.

Jo begins to braid my hair, humming softly to calm me. I blow my nose another time and shake my head. They are not listening to me, they are not hearing the injustice of Bonnie's situation. Maybe I must be her voice. If not for her, then for the sake of my own moral compass.

"Kai hurt her. She told me he was on top of her like that. I heard her cry," I insist.

"Yes, but he purposely made intimacy hurt for Bonnie. The same way you can intentionally hurt someone while brushing their hair. Both things feel good when done with care and gentleness."

"What is this intimacy?" My body trembles, my face even tighter than when I witnessed Bonnie pinned to the bed.

"Lexi?" Jo asks.

She nods, looking up at me as I had with Mav during potty training. Her hands hold mine, and she smiles sweetly before she speaks.

"A man's private area may grow stiff when he feels attracted to you. And to make himself feel good, he may want to touch it. And so to share the experience, the man may undress you, kiss your body, and make you feel tingly. After some time, he may want to put his length inside you, in your private area to make you feel just as good as he does." I am hyperventilating, and the room seems to spin. "So he will likely be on top-"

I cry out in horror, pressing my back up against the chair with all my strength. Lexi squeezes my hands, but it seems nothing she can do will calm me.

"Elena. Elena, you and Damon will be doing this soon enough. It's important that you understand that there is nothing to be afraid of."

"D-damon? No. Please, no," I beg pathetically, "That can't be how it is. He hates me."

"Elena, look at me," Lexi snaps, and so I do. "We've all been through it, okay? You may really like it. Jo and I both enjoy the experience. You see, Jenna and Alaric were showing Bonnie how it can feel good, too, and those noises were probably her way of expressing her liking."

"No. I-I'm not doing that with him, not with anyone," I tell them, sniffling.

"It's not up to us. We can't speak for Damon. But eventually he will ask this of you. You are his companion," Jo explains while smoothing back a loose strand.

I realize that the only sane person left is the man with hundreds of books lining his walls. If anyone can save me from this nightmare, it is him.

"I-I want Elijah," I shriek, "NOW."

"Swee-"

"No. Now, now, now." I begin to yell his name desperately, my bottom lip still quivering.

Damon emerges suddenly, marching towards us. His face is surprisingly relaxed, and his eyes don't look as lifeless as usual. Jo ties off the bottom of my braid before helping me to stand.

"You're causing a commotion," He tells me firmly, pulling me by my arm until my back is against his chest. "Calm yourself."

I feel him begin to unbutton the back of my dress, and my instinct is to fight the man, but he only quickens his actions, beginning to work my arms out of the holes before I have to time to hit him. Lexi and Jo help. Almost immediately, Damon wraps an arm around my ribs, holding me there as the women work to take the dress off. I feel the hair of his arm just barely brush the bottom of my breasts, and I gasp.

"How did it go?" He asks them, lifting my squirming body so that they can pick up the pool of fabric around my ankles.

"She's going to be okay. It's just a lot to take in." They talk as though I'm not here, and I cry louder to try to call their attentions.

"The underwear, too," He tells Lexi.

I shake my head wildly, thrashing myself against Damon. He does not react at all, only adjusting his stance as Lexi yanks the fabric down my thighs. I feel as his breaths fan my ear, his warm chest cradling my curved back. As I stand naked, I yelp nervously, but no one seems to even notice. The two women continue to work together, Lexi grabbing a nightgown out of the drawer Damon points to, while Jo helps to slip it over my head.

"Let's get her onto the bed," The man directs, just as the nightgown slides over my breasts.

His arm pulls away long enough for the fabric to cover me, and to my shock he scoops me up, pulling me to his chest. Lexi and Jo prepare a spot for me among the sheets as the man carries me to the bed. I whimper, and Damon carefully sets me down, his eyes always wandering the room. My limbs tense as he begins to unbutton his white shirt before directing the two women out. They look at me with small smiles that hide something more mournful behind them. As the door clicks, I begin to pant desperately.

"Don't you _ever_ embarrass me like that again. Got it?" He snaps, and before I can say anything, he is gone, the bathroom door swinging shut.

* * *

I wake to Damon beside me the next morning. For a while, I almost forget the tragedy of yesterday, but the feel of the sheets tickling my bare behind reminds me quickly. I push my tangled braid out of my face before sitting up, nervously watching the man mutter in his sleep. Not even a minute later, he begins to open his eyes. I gasp, turning my back to him in fear. He gets up with a yawn, and I listen as he changes into his clothes.

"S-sir," I say just loud enough for him to hear, "I'm really sorry for everything."

He grabs his belt on his way out, not turning to look at me even once. I feel wet trails glide down my cheeks and a soft sob leave me. Why does he despise me so greatly? What have I done to him, what crime have I committed? I take my time in getting dressed, peeling the nightgown off in front of the full-length mirror by the closet door. A tall, bony body stares back. One covered in dark patches of hair and bug bites from so many days outside. I need Damon to like me. I need him to bear me enough to allow me to go home. The photos in his locked drawer showed a woman with skin as smooth as cream, like a real porcelain doll.

My fingers rummage through my dresser before I stride over to the drawer, bending forward to attempt the lock again. With the rusty pin in hand, I meticulously work the latch until it finally releases the compartment. Inside, the pictures are still scattered, and I grab one, staring at it in tears. This is what Damon wants, I tell myself. I need to be what he wants me to.

The photo sits on the bed as I finish dressing, lazily pulling out the hair-band which holds my sloppy braid together. The results are curly locks that drape around my head. I loosen these tight curls with my fingers as I head for the bathroom with the photo in hand. Checking that the door is shut, I climb onto the counter, sitting parallel to the mirror. I reach for Damon's straight razor, and immediately I smile at the feel of the cool metal on my fingertips.

First, I move my right leg to mount the counter, the knee high like a mountain. As I move the razor's blade to my ankle, I balance the photograph between the knobs of the sink.

"I can do this." With that, I gently scrape the blade against the skin.

To my surprise, the hair disappears, some strands falling onto the counter, others being shoveled up as I move the razor higher. I laugh, even as my palms sweat and my fingers tremble. The more I remove, the more nervous I become, right until the blade slices me. I gasp in pain, watching the blood pool out of the gash along my lower leg. It looks as though I had been attacked with a sharp kitchen knife.

"Oh my gosh…," I cry, throwing a white towel against the wound. "Shoot, shoot."

My eyes well up, and I sob at the realization that I have messed up once again. This time, I'm not sure Damon would be so willing to understand. The blood keeps pumping out, but I cannot even think to ask anyone for help. I am scared. I am truly scared, and the sudden deep throb in my leg only speeds up the tears spilling out. My white towel is a horrid red now, and I begin bawling uncontrollably. I press the towel harder against the cut, but the thing is already soaked with blood.

The door clicks open, and I bow my head as Damon stands in the doorway, emotionless and confused. Every part of me wilts like a flower at his presence. Just like the boy with the sunflowers, mine have turned black and lifeless.

"I just want you to stop hating me," I shout at him, sobbing. "I want to be like her."

He sees the photograph, moving his eyes back to me soon after. It seems he is almost taken aback by my words. His muscles relax and he steps toward me with disbelief. Damon sets his hand on top of mine for a long moment, and the touch is almost electrifying. As he removes the bloody towel, I know that he is going to punish me. I scream inside, listening to the familiar sound of a loosening belt. I close my eyes, expecting pain, and out of complete panic, I begin to nervously try to slide myself away, only to be stopped by a gentle hand.

Damon grabs a washcloth from the counter cabinet below, pressing it to the gushing wound before tightening the belt around it. He is so calm, carefully wrapping his arms beneath my knees and my upper back like he had last night. I hold him tightly, as if somehow I could fall to the floor, clinging to my captor for dear life. The man's face is blank, unable to be read as he carries me to the bed, and when I finally feel the mattress beneath me, he pushes my shoulders to coax me to lay against the pillow. I sniffle quietly as Damon disappears into the bathroom, digging through the cabinets and returning with a medical kit.

He sits on the edge of the bed, right beside my injured leg as he opens the box. Crinkling sounds of bandage packages and ointment tubes tickle my ears as I nervously wait for Damon to address the gash. He keeps his eyes on the task at hand, delicately removing the belt long enough to get a good look at the wound. As he begins to clean it out with a bottle of sterile liquid, I hold my breath. His fingers gently stroke the back of my hand when he sees how much it hurts, and to my surprise I gasp at the gesture.

Although he recoils his hand, I can still see it in the reflection of his bright blue eyes that there was some emotion in the touch just moments earlier. He digs through the medical box again, peeling sticky strips to hold either side of the wound together like a zipper. Repeatedly, he blots the area as more blood gushes out. The man is so gentle, finally pressing a thick bandage over the cut and smoothing it out with his large hands.

"Are you okay?" He asks, his eyes flicking up to look at me.

I nod, wiping the last of my tears.

"Good. I want you to stay in bed while I get you your breakfast." Damon grabs the leftover package scraps on the bed sheets before closing the kit and standing. "If it starts bothering you, tell me and I'll get you some pain medicine."

He begins to walk to the door, leaving the medical box on the dresser. I find myself nervously fiddling with my golden ring while trying my hardest to speak up. There is no denying Damon's unusual kindness, something I could use more of in the future, because with as much pain as he has brought to my life, I am undoubtedly grateful for even the smallest of gestures. In some ways, he is allowing me inside his heart, the place most vulnerable to the ultimate manipulation I will require to leave this verminous life. Damon's heart is the key to my happiness. He is the rainstorm I must follow in order to return to the sunshine waiting for me back home.

"Thank you, Damon. Really." The man turns to me for a moment.

"It's 'Sir' to you," He remarks.

Although his words are curt, they make me smile in the oddest regard. There is so much warmth beneath the frost of that statement, some potential in the tiniest glimpse of his compassion. And well, unbeknownst to Damon, I've never been very good at hiding my excitement.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Thank you to **LiveBreatheVampires** for editing, as always!

**Analysis:** Elena tries a lot in this chapter. From trying to help Bonnie to trying to make Damon stop hating her, our beloved Elena is really going all out. At the beginning of the chapter, she helps Jo potty train Maverick before returning to her room. Out of curiosity and concern, she peeks through Jenna and Alaric's room. From what Bonnie had told her about Kai, Elena believes that history is repeating itself and openly makes a scene to gather help. Damon is enraged and embarrassed, and he takes her back to their room where Elena expects him to punish her. Instead, he uses her as a drawing model, but his short temper can not handle her continual sob fest. In turn, he has Jo and Lexi give Elena "the talk". Damon eventually returns when she continues to scream and cry. He takes off her underwear, likely because he wants Lexi and Jo and maybe even Elena to believe that he is going to have sex with her. Once the two women leave, he does nothing, but this is almost Elena's punishment for embarrassing him in front of everyone once again. By making her believe that he would do that to her is punishment enough (psychological). Then finally, at the end of the chapter, Elena tries to make herself look like the girl in Damon's photograph with the hope that that will make him stop hating her, only to badly cut herself. He is very gentle and sweet when he finds her, and of course is a little cold when she thanks him as is if to keep his facade of apathy. Elena is okay with it, hoping that by softening Damon, she can eventually convince him to let her go home. This notion gives her hope.

Yes, this chapter may not be everyone's cup of tea...with some odd and even creepy aspects, but I write dark...that's just who I am! I hope you enjoyed! xoxo Ren


	15. To See

"_**To see a world in a grain of sand and heaven in a wild flower is to hold infinity in the palms of your hand and eternity in an hour." ~William Blake**_

**Damon**

If one is forced to feel something, must it be so potent, so overwhelming when exploding through the body? Lately, it is as though I can feel blood slap against my veins, and as if each breath can consciously tickle the walls of my lungs. This is new. This is...this is radical. I see the sun for more than just a light in the sky. I see its colors, its wings that shoot out in all directions. When I touch something, I pause to run my fingertips over it, to feel the ridges and the cracks that it may have. And when I see her now, I don't glance, I look, and for far too long. I fight it. I pull my eyes away in shame at the belief that I could ever give myself to her. Let's face it, her piercing stare has reminded me on numerous occasions to stay back, to return whatever my eyes could have stolen just by looking.

Elena has already spent an hour braiding her ever-growing chocolate locks, which lately drape her shoulders. Despite the fact that her hair needs a good trim, it still looks silky as ever. But it does remind me that perhaps, Elena isn't taking care of herself properly. For what reason, I'm not sure. The girl catches me staring, but I've come to see something in her that makes it hard to look away. As she finishes off the braid, I sketch her face from my chair by the desk. Her features are so soft, as delicate as my lines, but marked with a frown as harsh as the deep black of the lead. I wait for a smile, only to be met with a furrowed brow and an almost wrinkled display of disgust. Inside, I chuckle. Her willingness to hate me is stunning.

I set the unfinished drawing onto the desk before moving to where she sits on the bed.

"Come with me," I whisper.

"W-what?"

Elena's hand does not fight me, but there is some form of anxiety etched on her features as I lead us toward the bathroom. Only a week before she had been in here, attempting to conform to what she believed were my standards of a true woman. I suppose Elena saw Verity's nude photographs and believed that Regan also shaved to please me, but in truth, she never bothered with it at all. Regan knew that she never had to change, at least not for me. But to get my attention, to make me stop slowly defiling her, Elena tried to be as close to what Damon Salvatore wanted, whatever it was that made him love Verity. Whatever it was that made him love Regan. She bled to prove that she was at the end of her rope. She hurt herself because I was too consumed by my own pain to realize hers.

Once in the bathroom, I carefully move my hands to hold her waist, hoisting her lanky body onto the bathroom counter. She gasps, taken by surprise, and as if unsure wether to cry or yell, Elena just wraps her arms around herself in some form of protection.

"I'm not going to hurt you," I say under my breath.

Her shoulders are slumped forward, eyes never really looking up at me. Had I made her this way? A creature so fearful of the world? As I move my hand out for the straight razor beside the sink, I watch the girl grip the counter, and immediately I try to soothe her with the touch of my fingers on her resting hand, but she only winces. Even after the little things I have done, Elena has yet to trust anything I do, because at any moment she may feel a belt snap against her skin or feel my cold words stab through her chest. Maybe in time I had failed to notice these minor gestures, these behaviors that only proved my harshness toward her.

A girl who had made me laugh, who had shown me love for my own son, who had found it in herself to fight me. How had I overshadowed the things that I craved for myself? I wish to laugh. I wish to love Maverick the way I see Elena so openly share. And well, I even wish to be as brave, to be as bold as Elena. She may not know it, but I see so much of the old Damon in her. I see a piece of him already there.

As I wet the blade, I listen to Elena's shaky breaths brush against my cheek. That's how close our bodies are. Maybe she can even hear the soft thud of my heart, because I can surely hear hers. Gently, I grab her right ankle, pushing the dress away from her knee until it sinks into the cusp of her hip and thigh.

"Are you sure you want this?" My eyes do not look at her, but I see her nod her head. "Not what I want, what _you_ want."

Again she nods, even showing something I could measure as a grin.

"Never change for anyone," I tell her firmly, subconsciously tightening my grip on her leg. "Change for you."

The razor is my paint brush. My strokes are precise and soft as I maneuver it across her skin in concentration. Already the ankle challenges my skills. I quickly adjust my hold in order to properly remove the hair, and Elena watches me hesitantly, like watching someone remove a bullet from an abdomen. Only silence fills the room, but every so often I hear her gasp as my hands move to access a new patch. I work around the bandaged area, scraping the blade as closely as possible, sometimes rinsing it before continuing.

Elena's legs are long, olive towers, and I force back the tiniest smile at the feel of them in my hands. She must be too busy taming her shaky breaths to notice. It gives me time to secretly relish the feel of human flesh touching human flesh. Fascinatingly enough, it is not only hair that is being shed from her skin. With it, she scrapes off this sense of conformity, a willingness to remain the girl she once was. Like a second skin, she lets it peel away from her, everything that made her feel trapped, whether by the government or more likely, by me. She awakens something within herself, something that tells her that she doesn't have to be anything close to what the world has told her. And there's something beautiful about that.

Touching someone has become foreign to me. I fear holding someone too tightly, too loosely, or too possessively. I can't seem to find a balance, afraid to let myself feel, and yet knowing that I crave it. Just to feel the warmth of even something as simple as a limb gives me this odd sense of tranquility. Contrary to Elena, Regan's legs were atrophied, appearing more as thin poles. There was no contour or real shape to them, but they didn't need to be when they were hidden away behind her braces most of the time. The plastic provided an illusion that gave the impression that there was more to those skinny limbs than just skin and bone. Over the years I nearly forgot that it wasn't normal for a person to have thighs as thin as calves.

For so long I had been her leg muscles, I had run through the fields because it felt as freeing to her as to someone given a pair of wings to fly. Yes, I suppose that was the greatest gift Regan ever gave to me...the candor in the way she saw life. She told me it wasn't the act of running that made her happy, but rather the sole belief that given the chance, she would do it and without question. It was her way of understanding something she had never known. Running was as easy for Regan as swimming in a raging river with cement blocks chained to someone's feet.

**"_What does it feel like to bend your ankle? Doesn't it feel like it'll snap when you take a step?" Regan laughed while picking at a dandelion._**

**_Her blonde hairs were in waves dangling all down her back. It was in the early days together that she preferred her locks to be tucked behind her ears, in such a way that every strand could glisten in the sun. She was peculiar like that. The little things meant something, and in that respect, I suppose she loved life for the things no one really thought twice about. _**

**"_Hmmm...no. It feels like when you use your hands to crawl. I guess it just feels ordinary." We both chuckled at that._**

**_It was hard to explain something to someone who had never experienced the feeling. Imagine a world where we had to describe taste to a person born without, or explain color to a person who could only see shadows. Something as intuitive for me as running could not be fathomed for a girl held prisoner by her legs. In some ways they deprived her of the beauty felt when feet pounded the ground or when the body propelled itself across a distance. It pained me to even look into her eyes as she attempted to imagine a person so fearlessly subjecting themselves to something her own body deemed impossible._**

**"_I think I need to show you," I told her, reaching over to brush her lips with the pad of my thumb. _**

**"_Damon," She shyly grinned before turning her face away slightly at my touch. _**

**"_I'm serious." And with that, I moved so that my back faced her. "Climb on the Damon Express."_**

**_All I could hear at the time was a distant party of jays chirping, and the undeniably mellifluous laughter of Regan as she moved to wrap her limbs around me. It was said that the natives once carried their babies in a sling called a papoose. I always liked the sound of that word, just the way it rolled off the tongue. Regan taught it to me. She knew more about the world from books than I knew from living through it. More of my life had been spent on this earth, and yet I understand little of what lay outside this box we were all trained to stay in. _**

**"_I'm your papoose," She snickered in my ear when I moved onto my knees to stand. _**

**"_I'll be giving you some papoose later if you keep making me laugh while I'm trying to do this." A warm, sloppy kiss marked my cheek, and as the wind whipped against it, I shivered._**

**"_Mmm...I kind of like the thought of that. Whatever could you be referring to, kind mister?" _**

**_I had to gather my footing as my chest rumbled in laughter. With a ninety pound wart hanging off my back and a blistering wind rustling against me, I could not even make it another moment without succumbing to Regan's awful joke. She knew how to get me every time. I looped my arms under her knees to keep her secured on my back while I tried to cough away the poisoning laughter._**

**"_Okay, I'll be serious now," She giggled, squeezing me firmly._**

**"_Finally," I whined like a spoiled child, "Close your eyes, and don't open them until I say."_**

**_There was a brief moment of silence when I knew that Regan had followed my instruction. Whenever she shut her eyes, it was as if her body disconnected from the world. I believe that those moments were literally breathtaking for Regan, and to prove it she always seemed to gasp and curl her fingers into my shirt enthusiastically. We had not even taken a step and already the thought of bolting forward excited her, something anyone else would find trite and melodramatic._**

**"_Hold on, Reg." I took a deep breath, tightening my hold on her legs, before sprinting down the slight incline of the field._**

**_Regan read about wild horses that had been untouched by humans, and they galloped freely across plains with the wind in their manes and the ground nipping at their hooves. In that same way, I let my feet pound the grass rhythmically and ran with such an intensity that our bodies created the breeze that we felt. Regan's body bounced avidly behind me, limbs clinging with all their might as I sped up. To my surprise, she didn't scream. She just panted softly beside me ear, breaths that were so methodical that I thought she may have fallen asleep._**

**"_Open them, baby," I shouted just as I reached the highest point of the rolling hills._**

**_As we descended the miniature mountain, all I could hear was a wild gasp, a sharp hiccup that vented into the wind. Something wet nicked the corner of my ear just moments later. I suppose it was a tear, but when I asked later, she denied any recollection of such a thing. We reached the bottom, and I grabbed her dangling ankles, moving them to mimic running. As I raised my knee to take another leap, I lifted hers in that same way until we were in sync, until every movement seemed to be her own doing. She felt my heart pound as we ran, and I believe that hers raced just the same, maybe with even more vigor than my own. Her body had never felt such adrenaline, such thrill, such life._**

**"_I'm running," She hailed, "I'm really running."_**

**"_Yes, baby," I howled madly._**

**_My arms continued to work her legs into the rhythm of running, the coordinated interactions of hips, knees, and ankles to spring a person through the air. She snapped her head back to look at the sky, to take a moment to truly feel the wind caress her. Exhausted, I came to stop, nearly collapsing onto the ground. My lungs were desperate for oxygen and all I could do was pant, bent over on my knees. Regan rolled herself into the grass, silent and yet perplexed by something not of this world. Her mind was elsewhere, and all that remained were two parted lips that curved into a delicate grin as she stared up at the endless sky. _**

Elena jolts me from my daydream when I reach her knees. Somehow I had grown lost in a memory, one of freedom and of grit. Looking at Elena's legs, I am reminded of what a true gift it must be to have the strength to walk, to jump, to skip, to run. But in it, I must believe equally that what Regan's legs gave her in the end were wings. They were not tangible accessories. No, they were something inside her, hidden away until she would need them. People walk in heaven, but not Regan. While others step along the sacred ground, Regan flies with the wings that sprouted from her back on the day she was born into God's kingdom.

"Is there something wrong with my leg?" Elena whispers shakily.

I look up almost in confusion. My eyes click down to her leg, and finally I realize that I have stopped shaving. Almost embarrassed, I quickly shake my head.

"No. Your legs are beautiful," I mumble, continuing to carefully sculpt the blade around her left knee.

She smiles, nodding. As I finish up her one knee, I move to the other with just as much discretion as before. Multiple feet stomp down the hallway, laughter and muffled language following. It rather reminds me that Elena and I are not the only two people on earth, even if it feels like it. Finally, I pull away on the final stroke of the blade, rinsing it another time under the running tap. And before she can even say a word, I vanish, feeling the assuaging flex of my ankles as I take each long stride toward the staircase. If only Regan could have felt this, even if only for a moment.

* * *

The discussion of raiding the city has come up again. Taking them off guard is the tactic we have always used, and with so much time between each sweep, it seems they are never ready. Blueprints are sketched years in advance with precise details and escape routes. The plan must always vary, with unique tactics that our enemies cannot predict or detect once set in place. In four years, we will serve another dose of justice, another punishment for the government that took everything we yearned to have. It is a risk each and every time, but one worth taking for all who have been prisoners. For Stefan's death, for Regan's abuse, for my withheld freedom; our mutual abuser will forever pay.

"Norlis is already threatening to burn Bibles if Aldlake chooses not to hand the weapons over," Wes laughs.

You see, in this complicated world, no matter where you hide, no matter how far away you roam, the drama of society will always reach you in the end. This society is shaped like a stunted cross. There are four cities, each a square that hangs off the center box. It keeps them from touching each other, I suppose, like unruly children who cannot play fairly.

This square land in the middle is neutral, as agreed upon at the end of of the 20th century. If anyone breaks this truce by using or crossing onto it, the call for peace will end. No one knows if another city has crossed onto this land, but no one is willing to test the theory of checking. The land is tempting, sitting there untouched like a prize. With peace finally reached, it is in everyone's best interest to keep on their own sides of the border. The very house we live in now lies upon this sacred and untouched land. Our own government cannot cross over it to capture us, not unless they want to start a war amongst the other cities.

To the north, there is Norlis, if it wasn't an obvious name enough. The place holds a theocracy with some witchy voodoo deity that rules over the citizens. Occasionally we'll hear about them sacrificing their own people on a central altar made of gold. Sounds fun. To the south is Lochwind, the capitalist republic where nearly all our stolen goods come from. It is as close to freedom as one could get under the rule of a government, but for a group of nihilists, it would never be satiable.

To the east is Aldlake, an oligarchy that is always bickering with Norlis. They say Aldlake is ruled by some elite class of citizens who use the book of their god to justify the oppression of others. Norlis, although hypocrites themselves, enjoy nothing more than trying to alter their enemy's beliefs. Different gods, different creeds, both of which do not match closely enough to keep the waters calm.

Finally, to the west of us is Pryhaven, the infamous name given to the shithole we grew up in. A totalitarian government with an ironic taste for plant-based food. When they're not killing their soldiers on pointless missions, they're sitting down to a cruelty-free rice dish to clear their conscience. We don't call any of them by their given names very often, none worthy of names at all.

"I'd like to see them bomb the hell out of each other," Matt snorts.

"Um, I'd rather not. As long as this land remains neutral, we're safe from the fingers of death. I like my life, thank you," Alaric mocks, throwing back a shot of the most recently opened jug of Luke's homemade alcohol...tastes like shit, but is strong as hell.

"We're not the only traitors out here. They've got to be somewhere." Everyone turns to look at Matt, who brings up a decent point.

In all the years out here, we have never met another group. There are so many ways one could look at that realization. Had no one else tried? Or had their government held them in such a vise that they could never successfully escape? All the cities and even this land were once wide-open spaces without an ounce of societal influence. Animals reigned the property before cities were built and rich humans erected houses to fit the size of their egos.

When the land was finally marked up and split among the four rivaling cities, the people on this land were forced out, but their homes remained, even after all that time. No one could have predicted a tension between four governments would end in a plea for peace. This land tempts them and yet reminds them of what will come if ever touched by any of them. That hope is all we have to live off of anymore.

"Sir, a-after dinner, c-can I see the animals?" A voice asks behind me.

Elena. I swivel on my heels to face her, surprised to see her in Wes's office.

"Let's go now," I tell her, begging to escape the endless bickering and gossip of men.

The two of us walk together to the front door, under the noses of others, and I sigh as we reach the front steps. There is a twinge of awkwardness as we journey to the barns across the open field. I kick the dirt, pushing sweat into my hair. Elena keeps her attention forward, and as always, silence accompanies our time. When the scent of manure grows close, the girl beside me speeds up, sprinting the last few yards. I listen to the barn floor creak beneath our shoes, and Elena smiles at the herd of deer in their pens.

"Where do you get them?" She asks as her fingers reach out to pet the nearest doe.

"A lot of them are wild. We breed them," I tell her blankly, clearing my throat. "We have some cows and chickens that we stole and then bred from the capitalist city."

"And piglets," Elena gasps, eyeing them from across the barn.

I follow her when she moves to see them, immediately seating herself just in front of the gate. She talks to them, wiggling her finger through the space between the wooden boards. That look of awe, the one Regan had when given the chance to run. What beckons Elena about these animals? What part of her pauses to cherish them?

"Do you want to hold them?" I ask, mumbling to hide any emotion attached to the words.

"Please. Yes, yes," She breathes, clasping her hands together as she moves to allow me into the pen.

The door swings open just enough for me to reach inside for the two closest babies nestled into their mother's side. They are so warm against my palms, still sleeping as I pass them to Elena. The piglets are two weeks old with little pink snouts only as big as my thumb print. I close the gate, and step back to watch Elena hold them just as she would with any newborn.

"Elijah gave me a book on animals," She laughs, "They said pigs are smarter than three-year old humans. These animals are smarter than Mav."

She doesn't look up at me. Her eyes are locked on the soft oinking babies in her embrace. While they sleep, she strokes their faces, tracing their features with the same care I would with my own son in secret. Tears well up along her lashes, and I tense, unsure what to do.

"How can you eat them? H-How can kill-"

"Food," I am quick to interrupt, crossing my arms.

"If God wanted us to eat them why would he have given them the ability to feel pain and fear? What kind of sadistic individual would that make him?" She says softly, finally looking up at my stone-cold expression.

"This is natural," I spit.

"Let's bring Mav out here and try it, then. There should be no hesitation if it's so natural. But we all know that he would cry and beg us not to hurt them. Children are not born killers. He'd choose apple picking over ending a life."

"We make sure it's humane," I fire back, growing surprisingly defensive.

Elena leans her lips down to kiss each piglet, sniffling and forcing back tears. She whispers to one of them, and although I am just feet away, her voice remains inaudible.

"When deciding if something is humane, I ask myself if I would have it done to me. And you know what? I wouldn't. I wouldn't choose to have an axe through my head or a knife against my throat." A sob escapes her. "I would not choose to watch my mother die, to hear her screams as you did it. How is that humane? Any of it? You enslave them. Just like me, you enslave them for no other purpose than for your own selfish gain."

I stand speechless, completely moved and unable to look anywhere but into her soft brown eyes. Never had I thought about it that way, never had I seen someone gaze so compassionately at another creature, not even Regan. This girl, this wilted flower of a girl has displayed the importance of empathy, the importance of virtue, the importance of justice. I ran away from the city because it lacked the very core of those three essential human values. I ran because the world had kept me in a cage, enslaved me, and used me. How am I any better of a person than they are? These pigs would grow up to be more intelligent than my toddler, more aware of the world than my own flesh and blood.

"Elena," I breathe, eyes fixed on her tear-stained cheeks, "Stop-"

"It is not whether or not animals have souls...but rather, do we?"

I move closer, one step at a time in almost a trance until I tower over her. She expects me to maybe slap her, or maybe snatch the babies out of her arms, but instead I sit beside her, cupping my hands to show her that I wish to hold one. She stops crying long enough to lay the piglet onto my palms, watching as I bring the little creature closer to my chest.

Elena is right. My lack of empathy may source from the fact that I have no soul at all. The cruelty of this world is not to be blamed on the innocuous minds of animals, but to the soulless monsters we call man. I was once good. I loved and lived, smiled and laughed my way through life before I chose to let all morality in me wither away.

So for the sake of reassembling the shattered pieces of my own soul, Elena has gone in search of them, collecting the shards one by one until they can sit piled in her hands, until some day she can glue them all together and give the fragile soul back to me as it had looked so long ago. While I wait for that day, I can only promise to be more aware, to be more gracious, to open myself up to the things that should make a person human, rather than the things that should not. Thanks to Elena, I think I have finally awoken from the purgatorial state between existing and living.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Thank you so much to **LiveBreatheVampires** for editing with swiftness!

**Analysis:** Damon is "seeing" everything and everyone differently lately. He is waking up. In this chapter, he helps Elena shave her legs, as if to finish what she started the week before. During this time, Damon thinks a lot about Regan, but also about his current feelings toward Elena. He even compliments her legs, which may have slipped out unexpectedly. The flashback about Regan hits close to home for me, and is probably one of my favorite scenes to have written. Later, Damon and the others begin their next plans to punish their former government again. While doing this, we learn the set up and rivalry between four cities (Pryhaven, Aldlake, Norlis, and Lochwind) and the neutral land in the middle that has been untouched as a part of their peace agreement. Elena asks to see the animals in the barn, which gives Damon a chance to get away from the political discussion in Wes's office. Listening to what Elena has to say about the animals he enslaves and how they compare to her own situation resonates deeply with him. Humans are such hypocrites! haha! Anyway, He is seeing traits in Elena that are compelling (rebellion, fire, compassion, and humor). She is completely different from Regan, but that makes it all the more special because he is falling for Elena for what makes Elena beautiful. Furthermore, it seems Elena's plan to soften Damon before eventually using his vulnerability to go home is working. But will it backfire?

Much love to all my amazing readers. Thank you! xoxo Ren


	16. To Feel

**"To feel that one has a place in life solves half the problems of contentment." ~George Woodberry**

**Elena**

Lately there is a chill to the air, each day bringing us closer to autumn. For a while, I watch the wind rustle against the bed sheets on the clothesline before turning my attention to the endless mound of wet laundry still needing to be strung up. Bonnie drapes the fabric while I clamp the pegs. I guess by now we have a certain degree of efficiency after months of doing this same task again and again. Today my eyes cannot pull away from Bonnie, and the longer I stare the more paranoid I become.

She wears a smile, her voice humming a song, but I still believe, even after all this time, that there may still be a part of her that hasn't forgiven me for the mess I made in the privacy of her bedroom. Our friendship never changed, and to my disappointment, she has never brought it up. Even so, maybe deep down my intrusion had made her question her choice to consent. Maybe I had reminded her of what Kai had done or maybe the embarrassment I had caused her was unforgivable and not worth talking about.

"Bonnie," I mutter nervously, "Are you still mad?"

She looks up at me in surprise, pausing before flashing a grin.

"That was forever ago." There is a small chuckle which morphs into a sigh. "Of course I'm not mad. Things just kinda...happened. Alaric and Jenna made me feel safe...and...and they told me about what Kai did...and that changed everything, I guess. They've been really great."

Bonnie goes back to hanging the bed sheets on the clothesline, but she never looks me in the eyes. We listen to the muffled shouting of men in the vegetable fields and the sound of tools clicking the dirt again and again. Ever since Jo and Lexi told me about intimacy I feel ignorant about the world around me. My life feels like a sheltered creature kept inside a box for its entire existence. With my ignorance...I have caused misery upon others. They grow easily frustrated, impatient, even enraged at my inability to understand their culture completely. Bonnie may have been hidden in the shadows just as I had, but she is open to the change, open to the forced enlightenment.

"I know I've said it before, but I'm really sorry." I bow my head to keep from having to look at her. Just as most days, I feel utterly stupid. "I just don't belong here."

To my surprise, Bonnie wraps her arms around me, pulling me right against her.

"Seriously, I'm not mad at all. You're the best friend I could ever ask for. It's my turn to help you." She squeezes me again.

No other words are needed. I allow myself to smile and return the friendly embrace. Bonnie knows how urgently I want to leave. She understands my enmity for Damon, my desperation to escape him. Maybe I can. Maybe this bottled up idea can carry me back to my family. I breathlessly chuckle.

"Well...I think I'm gonna get out of here after all," I whisper. "I have a plan."

The girl pulls away to look at me, knitting her eyebrows and pursing her lips as if to say something. I nod my head in confirmation of whatever her imagination could possibly conjure up. Just as I begin to speak, nature decides to mess with us. The wind whips against our dresses and we both laugh, pinning the sides down until the breeze settles. She quickly grabs another sheet to lay over the clothesline, urging me to pin it before another gust can carry it away.

"All I have to do is soften him, Bon," I tell her with a smirk, "Just until he likes me. I can help him out of his sadness and stuff. Then I'll ask that in return he will let me go home. He's already begun to change...I see it in his eyes."

"That sounds like an explosive plan. What happens if you develop feelings for-"

My hysterical laughter cuts Bonnie off, and the more I think about what she is saying, the harder it becomes to hold a straight face.

"There's no way. Impossible. I'm practically engaged to Landon," I defend, thrusting the silver ring forward to show the evidence. "And it's more than just that. I can never fall for a man like Damon."

"And what if he doesn't let you go? What about if he expects you to lie beneath him?" She snaps.

"Bonnie, whose side are you on?" I whine, crossing my arms, "You should be the most understanding of this. I live with a dead man who keeps me as his prisoner...he stole me away from my family. He took everything. It's only natural that I'd want to run away."

Tears well up in my eyes from how difficult I find it to speak. Whenever I think about what Damon did to me, what he tore from my being, I could never bring myself to want him. This man disarmed the timid schoolgirl who dreamed about marrying her teacher, raising two perfect children, and living out a beautiful life surrounded by love and loyalty. Damon consciously raped that. He believed that in being free of a government that he was also free of any guilt.

If anything, I hope to give him back his humanity, his will to be a good person with the expectation that he give me something in return, something which requires nothing more than a few written directions and a farewell. My need to go home is stronger than any spell this man could cast over me, and I feel it in my very core that Damon wants me to change him. All along, he has been waiting for me to help. Thus we can give each other what we desire most of all.

"He's going to catch your bluff," Bonnie warns, sighing in defeat.

"I'm just being myself around him. It takes more restraint than usual not to yell at him or storm out, but I guess I just treat him how I would one of our leaders. I can fake politeness and a bad joke. Whatever it takes to make him smile...well, because I just need to milk the humanity out of him...that's all." I try smoothing out the wrinkles of the pillowcase before handing it to Bonnie to hang.

"I despise Damon as much as the next person, but I seriously don't think this is going to end well. You're deceiving him. What if he falls in love, Elena? Like what if he can't imagine letting you leave? I know it's hard, but make peace with your destiny...no one said you had to chain yourself to Damon." Bonnie smirks at me. "Think of all the people who love you here. They're your family now. I'm your family. No one can dictate that."

"I know but-"

"Elijah is fair game. If Damon hates you, it doesn't matter if you spend your nights with another man. Elijah treats you like you should be treated. Everything you need to be happy is right here. Maverick, Elijah, me, and even this house."

If only I could find it within myself to disagree with Bonnie. She is right. Elijah has been nothing short of wonderful. From the beginning he has always been here to keep me sane, to comfort me in the moments I thought my heart could no longer bear to live. These people have filled the missing pieces of my broken being. Maverick is like a son, Bonnie the greatest friend. It is all here. A machine that plays music, open fields of rolling hills, a room filled with endless books of knowledge and adventure. Yes, there is something ineffably beautiful about living in a world of possibility, of imagination and wonder.

"Maybe you're right," I sigh, turning my face up toward the sun. "Maybe Elijah is that other half of me."

And so I begin to smile, listening to the way the corners of my lips crack as I tug them upward. Maybe the plan to manipulate Damon's emotions was more misguided than I had intended. How could anyone change a monster? How could anyone pull a corpse from the darkness? It was stupid to believe for even a second that it was possible.

* * *

After lunch, when I know that everyone has disappeared, I sneak down to that music machine hidden away in the cellar. My shoes squeak against the old wooden steps, my lungs collecting the dusty air like a vacuum. It is warm in the desolation, in the arid quarters. I close my eyes, counting the steps to the bench. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. When I sit, the seat rattles slightly and a small ray peeks through the one tiny window, blinding me. The buttons are smooth and surely the only thing down here not strewn with dust.

For a while I think about nothing. Absolutely nothing. I think about an empty void that goes on and on like a dark cave with no end. It is pacifying. It is beautiful. It is free. Softly I tickle my fingers along the buttons, pressing them down until I am engulfed in the sounds I have commanded. There is control in it. Something listens to me, something obeys me. In being told how to live, I suppose I also learned how to oppress...not others but rather myself. I allowed my being to fall victim to it, so innocently and without thought. But to awaken to this travesty, now that is the key to liberation. Maybe Damon is too obstinate in his ways to see the light. Maybe it is me in need of saving, the one in need of change.

By what accident and in what state of mind had I taken it upon myself to change my captor? On what day had I believed that in changing him I could escape here? Only now do I believe myself a fool for trying, for attempting the unthinkable. Making him laugh in his intoxication, watching him cradle a piglet, defying him, smiling at him, talking to him...how could I believe that any of it was altering the man he is? I shake my head. While trying to change Damon, I unexpectedly changed myself. I chipped away at Elena Gilbert every day, piece by piece, rescuing her from herself.

Suddenly, the undeniably apparent creaking of the basement door causes my heart to race and my fingers to abruptly pause. I can hear my own breaths entwine with the patterned footsteps of feet descending the staircase. Panicked, I throw myself off the bench, ramming my right knee as I scamper for the safety of the dusty furniture in the darkness of the corner. I throw one of the white sheets over my body before trying to consciously monitor my heaving breathing. There is a tiny hole in the fabric, which I move to peek through. It's Damon. He sits on the bench, furrowing his brows and pressing his palm to the wood.

He stands, pausing to caress the long line of black and white buttons. Something is bothering him, like he already knows that I'm here. My shaky breaths sound amplified beneath the dusty sheet. With eyes watering and lungs heaving, I feel a cough manifest inside my throat. I will myself to be silent, to restrain whatever wishes to reveal my location. Damon turns his head in my direction, and although dark, I swear his eyes are looking right at me. He steps closer, pushing his black locks back. I hold my breath, but it is not enough. The man lifts the sheet off of me in an instant. Finally done caring, I cough.

"Elena," He breathes, almost in relief.

"Sir," I whisper.

His arm stretches out for me, and I don't even fight. Still coughing, I unravel my tightly coiled body until I can take his hand. There is no anger in the way he pulls me to a standing position. He just looks at me, nods, and then guides me over to the bench. I nervously take a seat, listening as the wood once again rattles under my weight. Then, Damon moves beside me, and suddenly I cannot help but clutch the music machine for dear life.

"I found this after she died," The man says softly, running his index over the buttons. "I taught myself to play by listening to recordings. Wes has a device that plays music others have already made."

My heart still thumps wildly against my ribs. I look up at him from the corner of my eye, shakily balling my hands in my lap. He sighs, beginning to create a tune. I watch his hands carefully, captivated by the sequence of his fingertips dancing across the buttons. His face is stiff in concentration, but with it, so much emotion. Not in his features, but rather his eyes. Hidden in those sharp blue spheres is a bleeding soul, and I click my eyes away, unsure which is more breathtaking; his vulnerability or his music.

"Hold on. I'll show you," He tells me, grabbing my hands and carefully spreading the fingers to hover a variety of buttons.

I gasp at the feel of his warm hands against my skin. Almost out of complete fear, I feel the tips of my fingers quiver.

"Stay." Before I can even mutter a pathetic plea, I feel him stand, stepping around the bench until he is behind me.

He swoops down, his chest pressed to my back, his face beside my ear, his hands covering the tops of mine. I tremble, but the man is so calm, so sure of what he is doing. Shivers run all down my back as he speaks, a warmth brushing my ear. His voice is still as controlling, just as demanding as always, and yet I know that that is who he is. That is what makes him Damon.

"One, two, three. One, two, three," He whispers, pressing down my index, my ring, and then my middle, again and again. "Keep going."

His hand pulls away, and soon a melody plays under the instruction of his own fingers. I skittishly repeat the pattern that he has taught me, counting in my head to avoid messing up. The feel of our bodies touching makes my stomach clench, it causes a warmth to run up my sides, but I push the thoughts away, and only after a minute do I finally realize the absolute beauty in what we are creating. Damon's tune blends with mine, like an ice cube melting into a puddle. He can hear my raspy breaths, the way I nearly smile at the feel of the methodical notes we play with nothing but our touch. I lean back a little, and I can hear his fingers slip from the buttons. I stop out of fear.

"Keep going," He snaps, increasing the tempo, teasing the buttons fluently. "One, two, three."

I feel his breath hitch, his voice crack, his fingers shiver beside mine. He presses his head to my cheek, adjusts his footing, whispers the rhythm until I am wildly tapping the buttons, slamming them down with vigor.

"Yes," He gasps, "Yes. Yes. Perfect, Elena."

And when I finally feel that my fingers may stumble, Damon snatches my hands, balling them inside him palms and pulling them to meet in the center of my chest. I am frozen, my head immobile beside his. He stays silent for so long, just huffing in my ear, rubbing his thumbs over my clammy fingers.

"You're a natural." All at once, he pulls himself away.

My hands remain pinned to my chest, almost as if not controlled by me any longer. I take a deep breath, squeezing my arms against my ribs. He sits down on the bench beside me, and although the bench rattles, I do not notice. I only recognize the feeling of prickling skin down my back, the nervous gallop of my pulse, the drop of my stomach. It feels different. Not pleasant, but not unpleasant because it feels safe and somehow satisfying. My cheeks grow pink, and my eyes stare at the dirt encrusted beneath my fingernails, fixed there as if hiding my shame.

"They call it piano music." He clears his throat. "I'm guessing this is a piano then. I-I really like it."

I nod blankly, still stuck in a paralyzing state of both mind and body. He smiles just a little, clicking his eyes to the buttons. This time the song is different, but just as enthralling as the last. Music fills the awkward and empty air for a while, for the time it takes me to relax my arms. I watch him, finding myself smiling at the complexity of his movements, and almost bewitched by the melody, I touch the backs of his playing hands with a grin, closing my eyes to feel his knuckles contract. He continues to play, his breaths fluttering against the tan of my cheekbone, his voice muttering my name like a carol.

* * *

After watching Damon return to the fields, I tend to the rest of my chores. I think a lot about my time with the mysterious, almost unfamiliar man in the basement. I think about the things it made me feel and the things it made my body do. As we departed outside the cellar door, some form of awkwardness poisoned the air, but oddly enough, there was something equally perplexing about the way he touched my hand before walking out toward the other men, the way he looked at me as he left. I smiled a little, almost childishly.

Looking down, I fluff the last pillow of Lexi and Tyler's bed with a tired sigh. The day is done, or at least the working part. By now everyone else is coming to end of their chores too. I can hear laughter from the kitchen and muddy boots clanking to the floor after a long day of farming. In relief, I make my way toward Elijah's room, pressing my ear to the door. Movement stirs inside, and excitedly I knock. Within seconds he opens the door for me with a small smile.

"In need of a new book?" He asks, directing for me to come in.

To my surprise, he leaves the door cracked, but grins as though it's routine. I nod coyly, rubbing my hands up and down my arms. Just as Bonnie had reminded me, Elijah is amazing. The first thing he does is pull me against him, as if he knows I could always use a hug. I giggle, wrapping my arms around his muscled back in response.

"Do you want to skim the shelves? Name any book and it's yours." He moves to his dresser with a warm grin. "Really, Elena."

Elijah laughs when I remain in the same spot as he left me. I nod, stepping carefully toward the long bookshelves lining the walls. The spines look worn, and so with the utmost care, I pull one from the shelf, skimming through the pages. It is filled with thousands of words and definitions. Boring. I place it back, wedging it between two others. The next is a novel called 'Cinderella', and with caution I open the musty book. I first notice the hearts etched on the corners of certain pages, the charcoal shapes staring back at my prying eyes. They mark passages about a prince giving back a glass slipper, about a man taking her away from her oppressive family. I smile.

"Who drew the hearts?" I laugh.

"Regan, I think. She read just about every book in this room," Elijah tells me while rummaging through a drawer.

My heart ticks. This girl had marked this place long before I ever came along. Everywhere there are parts of her hidden, revealing little by little. While holding the book, I can feel her. I feel the girl who still haunts Damon. She's here, isn't she? Regan is here. Carefully, I exchange the book for another, skimming the pages for more of her. 'Sleeping Beauty' it's called. This time there is only one decorated page, and instead of hearts, the word 'Damon' marks the corners, the margins, and the spaces between certain lines. The paragraphs talk about a dragon, a prince, and a princess trapped in the tower, waiting to be rescued.

"I missed you," Elijah whispers, grabbing me from behind and nuzzling my neck with his nose.

The action takes me off guard, and I belt in unexpected laughter.

"R-really?" I question bashfully.

The book slips from my hold, clinking to the floor where only the cover falls open. I stare at it with wide eyes and an eager hand. The inside is covered in black writing, a beautiful cursive composed of effortless twists and loops. In my daze, I feel Elijah kiss the side of my head.

"Elena," He sighs, "If only you could believe how much I want you for myself."

I mutter something, but it's hard to listen when my eyes are still fixed on the book below. But as if he understands my thoughts, the man moves away, still searching his room high and low for something. Quickly I snatch the book from the floor, opening it with a fervent longing. My attention firstly follows the dark ink of the signature at the bottom. _Your love, Regan_. The note is for Damon, his name decorated with intricate hearts and flowers and delicate winding letters.

"Sleeping Beauty," I mumble, pressing my fingers over the title page.

"Find a book?" Elijah asks, and I nod, slamming the cover shut.

"Good. I-I want to talk to you."

I turn toward him, feeling him entwine his left hand with mine. He lets me hold the book against my chest, but tilts my chin up to look at him. The closer he moves, the harder I press myself against the bookshelves. His smile is gentle, his eyes warm.

"You make me happy. I mean, really. I've had to push you away because I felt that I was being honorable, but in truth, it is more shameful to let you slip from my hold. I want to wake to you in my bed. And I want to watch you read and smile. Everything, Elena. I want everything with you."

I smile, I tear up, I gaze into his angelic eyes. He cups my cheek, and I laugh, shaking my head timidly. His lips touch mine, molding themselves to fit me before softly kneading the flesh. Every part of me tingles, every part quivers and shakes and yearns for his mouth. I smile against him when his hands skim my waist because it is just stunning and tender the way he holds me. Then all that is left is a gust of air that slaps against me as he is thrown to the ground. I open my eyes, shrieking.

"Damon," I bark in panic.

He slams his fist into Elijah's face, grunting with every swing. I hear skin split and bones crunch. Tears stream down my cheeks, and I watch, completely helpless. Elijah rolls onto his stomach to protect his face from Damon's fist, and I sob, clamping a hand over my mouth to stifle the cries. Damon shakes his fist before standing again, breathless.

"You have no right to touch her," He growls before grabbing my hand and yanking me to the door.

"Stop," I beg whilst grasping the book, digging my nails into the binding.

My feet betray me as he pulls me into his room, releasing my hand only to shut the door behind me. I look at him, eyes filled with moisture, waiting for him to say something. He grabs at his hair, almost pacing. In that time, I come to realize the strong scent of food radiating through the space.

"I waited almost twenty minutes," Damon spits, banging his hand against the dresser until it rustles. "It was getting cold."

I gasp at the jarring bang, hugging the book to my stomach and clenching it firmly. He collapses into a seated position on the edge of the bed, burying his face in his hands. What was getting cold? My eyes search the room curiously before I finally notice the two plates on the desk by the window. I wet my lips, using my arm to wipe away the tears of my cheeks.

"D-did you mak-"

"Jenna helped me make it for you. Veggie curry," He grunts, rubbing his scalp with his fingers.

"No meat?" I whisper.

"Yeah…" The words are a surrender.

He sighs, and I stand silent by the door, taking careful steps toward him. Why would he do that for me? I reach out to touch his arm, only to hesitantly pull back.

"Damon, I'm-"

"How could you...be with him?"

I can hear his lungs heave, and the crinkle of his hair bunched into his fists. He keeps his face down, elbows balanced on his knees. Instead of pity, I feel enraged. After everything, after all he has done to prove that he doesn't want me. What more can he steal from me? What more can he take?

"You shouldn't care. You're not allowed to care," I snap. "You are not allowed to be jealous-"

"Well I am," He shouts, lifting his head to look at me, "I fucking am."

My mouth falls open, and I stare at him as he throws himself out the door, zipping past me. There is a silence that falls over the room suddenly, and finally I allow myself to gasp for air. Everything around me spins, every breath more desperate than the last. I tear open the book in my hand, glaring at Regan's note before throwing it on Damon's side of the bed. As much as I want to, I can't bear to read it. I just can't. It is not mine to discover.

Instead, I move to look out the window, grasping the sill and tapping my forehead to the glass. The plan had been working, even when I gave up trying. Without so much as a conscious thought, my captor began to feel for me. He began to want me. I reached for his heart, and I held it, I brushed it enough for the lifeless organ to register my touch. Damon is changing, against the disparaging words of others who believed it wasn't possible. I can feed him the humanity he lacks, only hoping that it is enough for him to pity me, for him to want me to be happy too. Unable to hide the thrill any longer, I smile. I grip my chest and I smile...because yes, maybe, just maybe I will be going home after all.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Thank you to **LiveBreatheVampires** for being amazing.

**Analysis:** I really love the quote for this chapter because feeling like one belongs is so essential to being happy. Bonnie tries to convince Elena that she belongs here with her new "family", discouraging Elena's plan to soften Damon as a way to return to Pryhaven. Elena agrees with her because she realizes that she really cares for Maverick, Bonnie, and Elijah. It suddenly becomes silly to be so eager to leave, so she drops the plan altogether. Later that day she goes down to the basement to play the piano, only to find out that Damon has the same idea. He teaches her a tune and they play together. It is very intimate and hauntingly fulfilling for Elena, who is both surprised and hesitant by Damon's calm demeanor. After her chores, she goes to Elijah's room for a new book, and quickly discovers Regan's writings and doodles in certain books that as readers we know Regan loved. Elena can't take herself to read Regan's clandestine note, and sets it on Damon's side of the bed for him to find. The shocker of this chapter is Elena's kiss with Elijah being interrupted by an enraged Damon. We find out that he had cooked Elena a meatless dish and was waiting for her in their room. Damon snaps, blatantly admitting his jealousy before storming from the room. Although Elena has put her escape plan on hold, by the end of the chapter, she sees its potential and decides to enact it once again.

**Now for the good and bad news regarding throughmysoul44:**

I was completely honored and thrilled to have recently won Honorable Mention in a local writing competition. It really validated my decision to pursue Creative Writing as a minor for college in the fall. The organizer of the event sent me one reader's comments about my short story_: _

_Painful but still tender, very "grown up" certainly in its description of sensual, enveloping love; equally poignant and sad. Not an easy achievement for any writer. Remarkable in a teen writer._

It was amazing! I am so happy.

As for the bad news...Where have I been? Freaking out and stressing myself into oblivion. In ten days I'm going off to college. I can make no promises about anything, and that frustrates me very much. College life is completely different from the one I have lived. It is all so scary and new for me, and until I find a rhythm, I may be unable to keep up with updates. The month-long vacations would be my only sure chance...which is sad because I never leave Fanfiction for such long periods. But remember that last year I thought I couldn't write during the school year, and I did! I thought I couldn't and yet I pulled through...that's how 'Words Unspoken' was born. On the other hand, I'm a pre-med major, so the workload may be a lot for me to handle in addition to being trapped in the intense social life. There is not enough certainty for me to make promises. I wish that I could because I love writing so, so much, and I love all of you so, so much. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, at least! Much love xoxo Ren


	17. To Measure

"_**To measure the man, measure his heart."**_ _**~Malcolm Stevenson Forbes**_

**Damon**

The binding crackles and the tears awaken from their dormant state. I press the book to my chest in anguish, in complete agony, and in the sparse light of the lamp, I attempt to stifle the sobs. All is silent, all is empty at this time of the night, but here I am, defying sleep again. Elena stirs behind me, tossing and turning in the sheets. Soon, tears begin to cluster at the tip of my nose. I watch the bulb of liquid for a while, straining my eyes over and over to concentrate on the way it reflects the light. There is so much pain in this world, I decide, and far too much for that matter.

**_Whatever day it is, I hope that we're each as happy as we were last night. You kissed me for the first time and it was perfect. I try to imagine where we will be in a few months, a few years, a few decades. But if anything, I hope that you are the happy one. In being hidden away from society I learned how to surrender to others. For so long I submitted to them because that is all I knew. You're teaching me to rebel and that alone is equivalent to a lifetime of happiness._**

**_Oddly, I love the mystery of not knowing what the future holds. It feels freeing in that way. You've healed my heart. And I may not be what everyone wants, but I'm what YOU want. I am good enough for you, and I can only hope that everyone can feel as accepted as you have made me feel. I am free, Damon. Because of you, I am free. _**

**_Your Love, Regan_**

Did Regan imagine a future, or had her heart always welcomed the idea of a premature death? She speaks so selflessly, so openly about what I had already given her rather than what I was expected to give next. She appreciated life in the present. My beautiful Regan never sought the future because while others were thinking about theirs, she was relishing in the here and now. With that she urged for me not to think about mine either. Be happiness. Give happiness. Share happiness. That is what she wanted from me. What happened? Now, I am misery. I give misery. I share misery.

"Baby," I whimper, rubbing my face into my hand.

Over time, I have forgotten what compassion is, what altruism requires. I have lost my ability to recall such inherent traits, because when I lost Regan, I lost myself too. And for so long Elena has been trying to teach it all again. She is giving me the good things my lost love sought for me to share. Still, there is no happy ending for the monster that I am. With Regan's death and Elena's contentment, I am cursed. I have two women, both magnificent in their own ways, and yet I cannot have either: one does not want me and the other has no choice but to stay in her far away realm.

I set the book on the side table before drying my face one last time with the bed sheets. As I lie back into the mattress, I snort my congestion, staring at the white ceiling. My eyelids ache and sting from exhaustion and tears, but I cannot sleep. The thought of even trying scares me because sleep is such a vulnerable state of existing, one with little control. Instead, I turn to look at Elena, who is completely silent beside me, no heavy breaths to indicate unconsciousness. Could she be awake? Could she have witnessed my emotional breakdown, the way my naked back vibrated with stifled sobs, the way I bowed my head in complete lassitude? Or maybe all along she had not opened her eyes. Maybe she had just listened to the soft cries and the broken sobs? I turn out the light of the lamp before pulling the sheets over my body.

For so long all I can acknowledge is the way the fabric brushes against my sore knuckles. I think about Elena's lips against Elijah's for some reason. I think about what the kiss meant to each of them, the validity of their emotions as they connected their mouths. Yes, I saw the thrill in her eyes as he leaned in. I saw her willingness to reciprocate, like she had been waiting so long for it. Lurking in the doorway, my blood rippled and my chest physically ached. I was losing her. Something about the way he held her, the way he whispered in her ear, the way in which he could move and have her respond...it killed me. I imagined my lips on hers, my breath fanning her ears, my touch causing her to gasp. How had she forgotten me so easily? How had my attempts to grasp her attention been thrown aside without second thought?

As Jenna helped me prepare Elena's dinner, I smiled thinking about her taking the first bite. I smiled imagining her lips squeezing around the fork and her eyes lighting up. Before I had even walked up those steps, I wanted to be the one to make her laugh, for her to look at me with such appreciation. Elijah distracted Elena from the message I hoped her heart was telling her. I hoped that her heart wanted me in return, that overtime she could no longer deny that she had been changing me. So strongly I wanted Elena to forgive the man she had first met. That man still resides in me, but because of her, I feel I am making room for a better version, starving the old one to the point of death.

Ultimately, however, she chose Elijah...she chose him because he's not a monster. She chose sanity. She chose life, and it has opened these healing wounds of mine. I guide my face into the pillow to muffle the last of the whimpers and sobs before returning myself to the man who refused to feel...I return to being numb.

I wake to Elena's face just inches away, and only now do I realize her breaths fanning my cheeks. Almost fearful, my body springs upward into a seated position. My heart races. _You can't have her, Damon_, a voice warns.

"Get up," I say sharply, my chest rustling with morning phlegm.

She groans slightly while rubbing her cheeks as if to convince her tired body that it is worth moving for. Impatient, I yank the covers off of her, and Elena nearly cries out in alarm. Her doe eyes grow wide.

"You are not to speak to Elijah, got it?" I growl. "I want you downstairs and dressed in five minutes."

Her frightened gaze moves below my navel before a hand slaps over her mouth to hold back a sound. She mumbles against her palm, squirming and pointing to my morning erection pressing against the fabric of my shorts. I stare at her unamused while pulling on a pair of jeans beside the bed. Elena begins to cry, horrified. But I cannot acknowledge her. No, I am only fueled by anger today, anger at Elena for not loving a monster. I do not deny the fact that it is my fault. I know it is only me I can blame for such insolence, but it is like a black ink which splatters onto all that comes near to me. Elena just happens to be the closest to the target.

"S-sir," She sobs, "What happened?"

"You now have three minutes to get your ass downstairs," I hiss while securing my belt.

"Damon, for fuck sake, answer me," She yells as I move toward the door. I turn on my heels for just a moment to glare at her unapprovingly.

"Watch your mouth." Then, I slam the wooden barrier behind me and make my way downstairs where the scent of cooking food and the sound of chattering idiots fills the air.

Jenna is the first to look up to acknowledge my presence, but she quickly bows her head as if to escape the anger she can anticipate already. I grab a plate from the cabinet above her while the meat sizzles in the pan. She awkwardly moves herself to make room for my outstretched arms. With a smooth plate beneath my fingertips, I step back.

"Elena is to eat what everyone else is eating this morning. You will serve it to her no matter what she says," I tell her.

I snatch a biscuit from the stack on the counter before turning my attention to the others I so greatly dread. Elijah sits at the table, the chair turned slightly to face away from me. There is a reddish blue patch of skin on his jaw from where I slammed my fist into it. I sigh. Why doesn't it feel more gratifying? Maybe because a bruise can't change Elena's feelings about him, nor about me. I cannot stop her from her longing for him. I cannot stop her from hating me or wishing to escape the life I forced her to be a part of. There is no triumph when the prize hates you more than your enemy.

Elena's soft footsteps tap the floor behind me. I don't move to look at her. Instead, I join the others at the table. The conversations cease and the air grows stale. I turn to speak to Alaric to the right of me, and even when I smell Elena beside me I ignore the stench. In the corner of my vision, I see her play with her food, pushing it this way and that.

"I was thinking of moving the plow to the east side of the field until we're sure about how we want to harvest the last of the tomatoes," He tells me, and I nod.

"I'm not eating this," Elena whispers.

I stand, my chair noisily scraping the hardwood as it moves back. Elena bows her head, her fingers shaking.

"Then you're going to come help me slaughter today." I grab the fork sitting among a mess of food before forcing it into her hand. "Now eat it."

"No," She whimpers, "Why are you doing this?"

"She doesn't want to," Jo spits from across the table, "Damon, stop."

"EAT. IT," I hiss, moving to stand behind her chair.

Everyone stares at me in disbelief. The females hold their silverware firmly, while the men try not to intervene for the sake of war. I can hear Elena's ragged breaths as I bend forward to grab her hand which still clutches the fork. I lean more and more until my lips are right beside her ear. There is so much anger inside my veins, so much jealousy and hurt.

"I can't even stand to look at you anymore," I whisper.

My grip on her hand tightens and her brows begin to knit even closer together in pain. I loosen my hold and the fork clinks against the plate before I take it. "Then you can clean it." I tip the plate, and everyone watches in horror as the slop of food slides onto the floor in a heap. Elena whimpers, jumping from her seat. She looks at Elijah and then at me in tears.

"You're a child. You're nothing but a spoiled rotten child," She cries.

I feel my throat growing tight and my heart beginning to race. She stares at me, square between the eyes with such hatred that even I can't deny how much it hurts. All of this rage has back-fired on me. I have taken my anger a step too far and now I am to hear the bitter truth from the very lips which I beg to kiss. If only I had the bravery to spit out what I wished to truly say, even knowing there may be a grave outcome once heard among all.

"You're jealous? Of what? Of love?" She laughs in disbelief, "You're jealous that someone could win my heart without trying. You're jealous because your property refuses to be so foolish. I'm not yours. I belong to no one. Not to Elijah, not to the government, and especially not to you."

Part of me is screaming to speak, to tell her how badly I long to hold her, to look into her eyes and feel completely at peace. No, Elena may not belong to me but my humanity belongs to her. She holds it to her heart without knowing it is there. I am a slave to her smile, to her compassion, to the girl inside her crying to break free. No, Elena belongs to no one, but Damon Salvatore belongs to her. Regan took my heart, but Elena took my breath. She held me by an invisible string which pulled me toward her so slowly that I lost that piece of Damon which wished never to move on from the past. Regan told me to bring happiness and love to this world. She sent me Elena.

"El-," I try to muster, but she is gone, leaving me only to the vicious glares of my housemates.

Heart racing and eyes searching desperately, I march after her. I need to speak to her, to tell her what I know in the very depths of myself. I can't hide it anymore, nor pretend that I do not want her. My footsteps grow more desperate as I make it outside. She could be anywhere, but I shout for again and again. My heart physically aches, like it knows it will never have her - not now. But there is still a chance, isn't there? A chance to redeem oneself?

_The basement_. Yes, that is where she would go. I run for the exterior door before descending the creaky old steps smothered in dust and age. My feet stumble, but I press on until I reach the cement below. I look everywhere: up, down, and beneath every orifice and object.

"Elena, please. I need to speak to you," I shout, grabbing my hair in fists.

I collapse onto the bench where only in the distant past had we made music together. I glide my hands over the buttons. I want her. I want her as much as the flowers want water in their roots and birds want air beneath their wings. Without even thinking, I slam my fists down onto the white and black buttons until the sounds of each voice crash against the others in a cacophony. Fuck.

But later that day, she finally appears in sight of me. From across the field, I watch her playing with Mav with the water hose. She chases him around the grassy yard where the laundry usually hangs to dry. There is no fabric in sight, however, and so the two fight over the hose to spray each other with. Sweat pours down my temples into the dirt smeared along my scalp. She looks beautiful with her hair pulled back away from her olive face. I stare, leaning on the shovel beneath my elbow as the sun beats down on us in the field. I haven't taken a sip of water all day, but I can't, not when the thirst is in my heart.

Maybe it's her resilience in the face of tragedy and hopelessness that for so long bothered me. After all that she has lost, sacrificed, and dealt with she can still smile and fight against her most prominent offender: me. How can she lose so much hope in humanity and somehow come out on the other side standing tall? Maybe, after all, I am not jealous of Elijah...I am jealous of Elena. How beautiful that a caterpillar can blossom into a butterfly even after a flood, a fire, an explosion, and a journey through dark and barren hole. There she is, colorful and as beautiful as all of us could ever hope to be. She lost everything, but look at her: she is as glorious as the sun.

My heart skips a beat when I feel her eyes on me. I turn away, pulling the shovel out of the dirt and wiping the salty film across my brows with the back of my arm. There is no longer any laughter filling the air or the screams of play in the wind. She must be contemplating her decisions. Should she move their fun somewhere else? Should she confront me? Should she simply end Maverick's play because she feels suddenly uncomfortable? I can't say I could blame her. I am a bastard if there ever was one, and because of my selfishness I have missed these precious moments with my son.

I have watched him grow, but that is all. Watching a flower grow does nothing for the flower if you do not water it or give it light. Maverick is only but my flesh. He cannot be a reflection of me, no, not when our visits have been too short to imprint his tiny being. Because of my pain, I sacrificed Mav. I sacrificed my child to make room for hate, anger, and darkness. And yet look at him. He looks so much like his mother because he has only ever known such innocence as she once had. He is a reflection of everything she was to me, but somehow I allowed the pain to pull me from him so easily.

Elena screams as the boy sprays her with water. She rolls in the grass, arms outstretched as if to push the cold water away. She stayed, even knowing that I am watching. The shovel falls from my hands and as if no longer in control of my body I walk toward them, face blank, eyes empty and void of life. I follow her like the sun she is, and although she scorches me with her rays I still want that sweet warmth over the cold and lonely world I have created for myself all these years. Each step is one closer to hope, life, beauty. I feel her pulling me to her, and I can't bear it any longer. Why must she torture me with her this paradise she dangles in front of me? Regan knows it too. She knows what I am doing. I am stepping farther from her grave and closer to this emblem that is only but a girl with dull brown hair and deep dark eyes.

I look so angry as I approach Elena and Maverick. She steps back as I step forward in a dance of some sort. I charge toward them, yanking the hose out of her hand. Elena's eyes grow wide in fear and she stands frozen, Mav dropping to the wet ground for safety. The water sprays me, and it is as if the wounds of a broken man are being cooled suddenly. I lift it so that it can cascade over all of me; the two just watch. Soaked, I step forward, wrapping my free hand around her body and pulling us to the side of the house. I push her back against it and her breaths become panicked. The hose falls to the ground, and I slip my fingers to intertwine with her trembling and cold ones.

She looks up at me in fear, crying out as I pin her hands to the house. Our drenched bodies are firmly pressed against each other, and I feel the slight heat beneath the cold water clinging to her flesh. I stare into those dark doe eyes; she is just as afraid as I am. That is what I am: afraid. I lean in, noses forced to touch until she can feel the desperation of my hot breath meshing with hers. There is so much tension, so much need to shake her and tell her to stop torturing me. There is anger, but it is with myself. There is fear, but it is of vulnerability. There is pain, but it is only hers I feel.

"Elena-," my voice cracks.

I bury my face into her hair, scraping her hands against the siding desperately. My lungs rattle as I move to hug her, to pull her into my arms and just hold her so close to my body. I begin to sob. Nothing feels more right than that. Elena shivers against me, probably unsure what to do.

"I'm so sorry," I beg her, "Elena, I can't stop this...whatever it is that you have done to me."

I cradle her against me, allowing our bodies to sink down to the wet earth where mud has pooled around our feet. Her legs open like butterfly wings to hold me between them as we sit. No matter how hard I try to pull myself together, my sobs double at her lightest caress. Her movements are hesitant but they are there, softly reminding me that I am not alone. I have been alone for too long, for so long that I had forgotten about Mav and about myself. I forgot Elena and I forgot humanity. Worst of all, I forgot everything that Regan told me to never lose.

"Elena, Elena, Elena," I mumble crazily, "I could never hurt you. Oh, God, please forgive me."

The dryness in my mouth becomes painful and the world around me begins to spin. I feel my eyelids weighing down like lead shades until all I can see the blackness behind them, like a prisoner of my own body. I mutter for Elena but my lips no longer move on command. I can't feel her hand on my back anymore. I am gone. Now, there is only darkness.

* * *

My forehead is cold. That is the first thing to come to me as I awaken in the sunlit room upstairs. Footsteps and voices are only simply a buzzing in my ears when I finally turn my neck to look at them. They all begin chattering at each other before forcing a cold glass to my lips.

"Drink," Jo tells me. I gulp it to calm my scorching throat, but there is something more concerning on my mind. "Damon, you need to drink when you're working in the field. You passed out in that heat."

"Where's Elena?" my scrappy voice is quick to ask. I sit up to search the busy room for her, but there is only Lexi, Jo, and Jenna.

"You need to rest," Jenna insists, "You scared her out there when you collapsed on her during that crazy rant. She looked as pale as a ghost."

I gasp and my eyes grow wide. "Tell me where she is," I demand. I sit up, push a hand through my black locks, and move my legs to dangle from the bed.

"We haven't seen her since supper."

Shit. How could I pass out in the middle of something so dire? I let the cold-press drop to the floor as I make my way to the door, mind still fuzzy and half-awake.

I pass everyone on the way out the back door, many laughing at my crazed expression and probably continuing to comment on my fainting incident from earlier. Right now, all I can think about is Elena, however. I think about her hiding away in Elijah's room or crying her eyes out in the basement or maybe even trying to harm herself like so many of us here have done at some point. There is no freedom without control, and I have handed Elena none, not one bit since her arrival to this prison.

The door swings shut behind me, and I again search for her. I wander, not sure where to look exactly, but I pause to shield the setting sun from the glare. Scanning in a panoramic fashion I finally stop at the outline of a feminine figure near Regan's grave.

"Regan?" I mumble, only sure of the silhouette but not its owner.

I step rapidly toward it. The figure does not turn to look, even as I noisily stomp through the grassy field toward her. That familiar brown hair and lanky body are undeniably Elena's. She faces the cross which marks my former love's resting place. What an odd place to find a fearful and horrified girl. For some time, I watch her emotionlessly. She stands with her back to me, maybe unable to turn around simply to spite me.

"I care about you," I begin in my usual somber and lifeless tone. Still, she keeps her eyes focused down toward the cross. With sweaty palms I continue. "I have felt it for so long, Elena. I want you. If you could only know how much truth there is in what I am telling you."

Crickets chirp in the distance and no matter how much I profess, the girl stands rigidly in place.

"Reg-" I attempt to blurt, but the words fumble, "I loved her more than anything, Elena. I wasn't strong enough to handle her passing. If you could have just met he-"

"I'll never be her," Elena spits. "I'll never be good enough for you and you know it."

I take a deep breath through my nose. "Oh, but you are," I say so softly that I am not sure she heard.

For an unbearably long time there is silence, just two people aligned one in front of the other. Below them is a girl which haunts both for different reasons. But somehow we both know that it is also this girl who will bring them together. I sit on the grass behind Elena, looking up at her as if she were the brightest sun, so bright that I cannot look at her for too long without squinting from her intensity.

"We once tried to build a fire out here on a rainy day," I say softly with a smile, "She was a lot like you at the end of her life: unapologetic, brave, and witty."

"I'm none of those things."

"Maybe you just haven't realized them."

Again, only silence. I begin to grow impatient, almost irritated. To have to try so hard to chase a bird that does not want to be caught is far too much work for a broken and bitter man. I have let her see me cry, to hear my voice rattle and break as it speaks from the little heart still left. She does not want to hear it anymore. My blood begins to heat up in preparation for a lash-out that may well ensue. I stand again and although she seems to relax at the prospect of my departure, I grab her wrist and spin her to face me.

"Elena," I hiss sternly, staring at her with so much fury, so much tension.

My lips are so close to hers. Her mouth relaxes as if expecting me to press mine to hers, but I hold back. I move my hands to her waist and with it I can feel her muscles involuntarily clench. I scoop her into my arms within seconds and she gasps in surprise. She doesn't fight me, her eyes nervously looking into the hollow blue orbs of mine. I walk with Elena, step by step from Regan and toward the very place I had lost her and found another. Through the field, I steady my pace enough that the girl in my arms no longer clings to my shirt. She is silent but relaxed somehow, like she knows my intentions are pure. Elena saw that innocent and child-like man earlier, the one who came out only long enough to be heard for a mere second. She knows he is inside me now.

The kitchen has cleared out by the time we pass through it toward the staircase. I take each step carefully with her. The last time I carried someone in my arms like this was the day Regan died. I smile just slightly because somehow, unbeknownst to me, it feels good. It feels good to hold someone so close, to be trusted. And indeed she trusts me. She gives up her control so that I can know it fully. As we reach the bedroom, Elena begins to scrape her nails into my shirt again, like she fears the demon that still lurks within the man carrying her.

I pull back the sheet with one hand before laying her gracefully onto the mattress. She looks up at me and for just a moment the left corner of her mouth curves upward. When I pull my arms away, I feel her fingers wrap around my right wrist. I pause, bent over her reclined body. Our eyes meet and she nods as if to thank me, and I guess that's all I really need to see that we have come to an understanding, a common ground on which each of us knows the desires of the other. I want her love and she wants my respect. If only we could promise one another these simple gifts. Maybe someday, but for now Elena can take my heart as compensation - the little that is left.

* * *

**Author's Note:** I'M BACK!

**Analysis:** Damon still shows a very hard and emotionless exterior when he interacts with others, but as we know from his inner thoughts, he is very three-dimensional in his feelings for Elena, which have swelled slowly from the beginning of the story. We see that he has realized just how foolish his actions have been and the cost of them: his son, his happiness, and his relationships with others. He feels himself being awoken by Elena, someone who brings him this subconscious happiness that Regan wished for Damon to hold onto. He realizes this most heavily with his jealousy at Elijah's affection for her and Elena's desires for him in return. This entire chapter focuses on Damon's desperation to express these harbored feeling, but when he attempts to he finds himself only able to resort back to his cruel ways or break down like an emotional wreck. The balance is only found toward the end when he tries to speak to Elena at Regan's grave sight. Even then, he can feel his impatience and harsh criticism bubbling up. We know Elena is purposely and almost vindictively trying to get Damon to this very breaking point, but she seems to feel some regret about her little games. She has seen him at his most vulnerable and weakest points, touching the ashes of the humanity and compassion still within him. Could there be some hesitance to keep teasing and manipulating this broken man, even if it means an escape?

Hey, everyone! The college work-load was far too intense to try continuing this story. I mean, there was never a free hour and the stress really got to me. But...here I am now! I am so happy to return, and I hope you are all doing well. Much love and hopefully a new chapter very soon. xoxo Ren


	18. To kill

"_**To kill your enemy is not a victory; but to make your enemy your friend, that is a victory." ~**__**Mehmet Murat ildan**_

**Elena**

Damon looks away as I pull off my nightgown. I turn my back to him and so softly his fingers touch my bare shoulder blades. He gathers the fabric of my floral blue dress at the collar and drapes it around my neck like a scarf until I can slide each arm into the long-sleeve sockets. Outside, frost has collected along the branches. The times have changed and a new season has brewed. For months now, Damon has helped me dress each morning, even allowing me on occasion to sleep in long enough to see the sun rise. He is so gentle lately, silent but gentle.

"How did you sleep?" He breaths beside my ear as he fastens each button.

I find it difficult to really hear him as the nausea continues to envelop me. Ever since I woke this morning there is a searing pain in my back. I feel my skin prickle and the sudden chill as sweat meets the draft of the room. I stutter out a reply, just as Damon brushes his lips over my temple.

"Do you want me to bring you breakfast?" My eyes can barely focus today, but I shake my head.

"I'll be right down." He nods before grabbing the doorknob.

As soon as he is gone, I grip the dresser and shakily groan in pain. For almost twenty minutes I pace the room, unable to stand still. The pain worsens, and I nearly scream. Nothing in all my life has ever compared to this explosion ripping through my lower back. I stumble to the door, hunched forward and feeling along the wall for balance. My knees give way, and I finally call out.

"Somebody," I yell in agony, "HELP. I N-NEED HELP!"

The hall seems to lengthen, as if the window at the end is moving away with every step. I continue to scream, crawling along the wooden floor. Vicky appears in her doorway, the room where Kai had hanged himself. She is dressed only in a long green heap of fabric which pools at her feet and is far too large for her body. Her eyes, surrounded by dark rims, stare blankly at me as her wild hair pokes out from her scalp in all directions.

"See? He did it again. Fuck you and leave you. Fuck you and leave you and fuck you and leave you." She repeats, not moving anything but her lips.

I scream for Damon, until feet pound the steps of the staircase. A group gathers as I curl my nails into the floor. Wes and Matt are the first to pick me up off the floor like some wounded animal. The sharp pain has yet to cease, and I begin to cry. Bonnie is the one to help Vicky back into her room, and the ghost-like girl goes willingly.

She smiles at Bonnie and says, "Isn't my gown just magnificent? Charles is coming to pick me up for the ball soon. Every night the men just fall at my feet." She even spins so that the fabric sweeps the floor around her feet.

"It's beautiful, Vicky. Come on now. Maybe Wes would like to see your dress when he's done with Elena."

For a moment I forget where I am while I watch Bonnie disappear into that room. Damon's voice is what snaps me from my intense gawking as someone lays me on the bed. I feel the tears slip over my temples suddenly. I keep groaning, holding my lower back and begging the vertigo to subside. Wes throws questions at me, but my lips only twitch, paralyzed by the pain.

"Ugh, I think I'm going to be sick," I howl.

Someone grabs me a bin to dry heave into. Damon keeps directing people out of his way when he returns with more pillows and blankets. There is a fear in his eyes, I can tell, although he hides it well beneath his stern commands and harnessed confidence. But I can see right through him for some reason. Wes takes my heartrate, examines my aching back, and asks me to try peeing. The burning pain as I try to urinate is unbearable. The little that comes out is reddish and dark.

"I can't," I cry out.

Wes continues to insist that I try some more, but Damon nearly throws me over his shoulder when he sees my tortured expression. He looks so pale in the face as he pulls a chair up to sit beside the bed. I tell him to leave me here alone, but he sits down anyway, grabbing my hand and resting his elbows on the edge of the mattress.

"Elena, you may be passing a kidney stone," Wes finally tells me.

I groan again. "Make it stop."

"You're going to have to let it pass through you naturally. They are usually the size of a grain of sand, but it is very painful as it travels through the kidneys and out your urethra."

I grip the sheets and contort, unable to stay still. Damon releases my hand when I pull away. For what could be hours, I cry out and drag my nails into mattress. People come and go, but only one person stays put: Damon. I don't know why, but he does. He only moves his position. For some time he sits on the chair and other times he lies on the mattress with me. My face is red and moist with sweat, but he stays inches away, not speaking, just there as if he knows words right now would only drive me mad. Unable to stand it anymore, I cry his name.

"Hold me...if you n-need to," He tries to say in a command, but his voice falters into a plea.

I nearly roll into him, biting back a yelp. His arms adjust me so that I press comfortably against him and they move my outer leg to rest on his hip. Suddenly, amidst the warmth of his body touching mine, a memory hits me.

_**One summer night when the trees were still warm from the being baked in the sun all day, Damon tried to hold me as we slept. It hadn't been long since his breakdown in which he professed his feelings. I had pushed him to the brink enough that he liked me, more than I could have ever hoped. With his emotions, I knew it was through them that I could break free of this place. I let him cradle me that night, his chest pressed to my back and his breath fanning my left ear. Every touch from Damon has become a touch from God telling me my journey home is so close. This is all his touch can mean to me now. No feelings, Elena, remember that. Think of Micah, your mother and father, Landon, and Caroline. This man is crazy, nothing more. **_

_**As he held me, he began to mutter about Regan, his hold growing tighter and more restrictive. He was asleep, but I no longer could be. I felt teardrops clip the corner of my ear as he belted her name in a whimper. His hand began to feel up my thigh, and I cried out in protest. A great gasp flew from his lips, and Damon sat up quickly. **_

"_**Elena," He whispered in concern. "I-I..." **_

_**He tried to mutter an apology, sniffling enough to force back any evidence of his emotions. He rolled me onto my back and brushed the hair from my face in alarm. Maybe he could sense some fear in my eyes, or maybe the shame of his lost love haunting him forced Damon to leave me that night.**_

"_**Take the bed." His voice became stern and lifeless once again. He was no longer that scared boy he had been in his sleep, and as the man left, he snatched only a pillow. **_

_**After an hour of tossing and turning, I went in search of him. I felt my way through the hall, along the staircase and to the main floor. There was something deep inside me hoping that I would find him hanging from a rope like Kai; Maybe then I could find my own way home without him waiting to punish me. On the last step, however, I saw him asleep on the sofa. There was not a blanket in sight, but he seemed peaceful in his unconsciousness. The guilt cut me right then, knowing that I was only using the emotions he feared so greatly to aid my escape. These moments that proved Damon's humanity and cordiality served to prove my own monstrosity. I sure as hell wasn't falling for him, but I was indeed learning to appreciate the man behind the mask of apathy.**_

After another high dosage of painkillers and two bites of a sandwich, I lie alone in the glow of the bedroom. Every few minutes, when I feel the stone beginning to move again, I grumble into my pillow and claw at the sheets. Damon finally agrees to leave me so that he can finally eat, go to the bathroom, and simply get away. I try peeing again, but the pain only worsens. To make matters worse, it is so hard to sit still, like there are bugs in the covers with me. Every so often, Wes comes to check my vitals, feel my forehead, and remind me to drink lots of water.

Exhausted, I try to close my eyes, to think about something other than the throbbing of my back. For some reason it is Elijah that I first come to imagine. Even after Damon's instruction not to interact, it is hard not to want to wave to him or quietly ask if there is another book I could borrow. His jaw was covered in a nasty bruise for weeks after Damon punched him. Elijah soon began to ignore my gazes and attempts to grab his attention. Bonnie seemed devastated to discover this. She could not even say Damon's name without crinkling her nose in disgust.

"That man is going to kill you when he finds out, Elena. Why can't you just be happy here with us? I bet Elijah will come to pursue you again, with or without his permission," She would say, "Don't play tricks with the devil. Everyone knows that."

"You know you have to get to know your enemy in order to defeat him."

And of course I agree that my willingness to hurt Damon is risky, but with an aching need to see my family again, even hurting him seems worth the trouble. Each day I would see the change in Damon more and more, to the point that it scared me to have so much power over him. Although he believed he was in control, it was really me who dictated the person he was becoming. Regan still lines the wall of the room, but I notice that he doesn't obsess about the frames being perfectly straight or centered anymore. It pains my heart to be becoming a monster myself, one who preys on the weaknesses of her captor. But I decide my fate, not him; I refuse to be trapped like this forever. Whatever feelings I believe he can give me are simply an illusion, a mirage of pity. Maybe this horrid pain is a punishment from the heavens for what I am doing to Damon.

Someone enters the room just as I take another sip of water. I look up and a smile spreads across my lips. Damon holds Maverick on his waist, his eyes turning to carefully watch the door shut. He carries the blonde boy in his overalls to the bed where he begins to giggle and crawl toward me. I wrap my arms around him and kiss his forehead.

"'Lena," he shouts. "Feel better."

"He wanted to see you," Damon says before pulling the wooden chair closer to the bed.

"Thanks, Mav," I laugh through the continual pain, pushing my fingertips through his messy locks.

He pulls a withered yellow dandelion from the single pocket of his overalls, setting it on my head. I can't even hold back a goofy grin. His bright blue eyes stare at me as he taps my cheeks lightly with his little hands. I bite my tongue when the pain heightens, but Mav doesn't notice. He asks to be under the covers with me, and I nod, lifting them until he can slip beneath them. It still has not hit me that this is the child of Regan. I turn my eyes from the boy to his father, and again a memory pulls me back in time.

_**We were downstairs in the basement after dinner, both seated on the squeaky wooden bench. His fingers stopped trying to make a tune, and he nervously looked up at me. **_

"_**Elena," He breathed, "I know you think that Maverick is the child of Wes and Jo…"**_

_**He paused. My heart began to race suddenly, like I already knew what he was about to say. His eyes stared at the black and white buttons, fixed on them as he pulled himself together enough to speak.**_

"_**Regan never met her son. She...she died right before…" His eyes watered, but he blinked them away somehow. "Mav was our child."**_

"_**Was?" I whispered, letting my pinky brush up against the side of his trembling hand.**_

"_**I'll never be the father he needs," He said dismissively.**_

_**For so long it seemed unquestionable that Mav was Jo's. Their eyes were the same piercing blue. Only now could I see the resemblance between Mav and his true blood with his eyes like Damon's and hair and lips like Regan's. Maybe I didn't want it to be true; I wanted Mav to be free of any association with Damon or the girl on the wall. It only brought up more questions about her passing and more reasons to despise the man she left behind.**_

"_**I visit him sometimes, but he thinks I'm a stranger. He doesn't know who I am because when she-" His voice breaks. **_

"_**That's all in the past. Mav is a very loving and forgiving boy," I told him softly, **_

_**My heart broke watching Damon barely hold back tears. I couldn't take it anymore.**_

"_**I-I can go with you if you want to visit him."**_

"_**You would do that?" He asked.**_

_**I nodded just before I felt his arm around my back, pulling me against him. He took a great sigh, almost relieved to hear my offer. The next afternoon, after coming back from the fields, Damon and I walked together to visit Maverick in Wes and Jo's room. Jo was eager to hear of the plan earlier that morning, tidying the space even knowing I had seen it almost every day while tending to my chores. **_

_**As we entered, Maverick wrapped his arms around my legs until I lifted him into the air to say hello. Damon stiffened even when I whispered reassurance, but he followed me to the circular rug in the middle of the room and we all sat down on it. Mav jumped up to grab his toys made of wood and old silverware. I smiled, turning to Damon, whose face drooped.**_

"_**He likes you a lot," He muttered to me. **_

"_**And he's going to love you," I whispered back, resting my hand on his knee. **_

_**When Mav ran back with the figurines, I took the one he held out to me. I pulled the boy to me, whispering in his ear. He giggled at the feel of my hot breath tickling his tiny ears. "Give one to him, too," I told him.**_

_**Moments later, he handed a toy to Damon, his eyes growing wide. The man hesitantly reached out to take the wooden piece after a few unsure moments. "Thank you, Maverick," He said softly. The boy smiled.**_

_**The awkwardness in the air began to melt away soon enough, and before long, Damon's mouth cracked a smile and then a giggle when Mav and I began to tackle him in a tickle attack. A light reflected in Damon's eyes as his son smiled in glee. Then the tables turned and Damon began to tickle the boy, to which I joined in. **_

_**As the sun began to set and the hours passed, we forgot about dinner and the others, all probably wondering what had happened. When Mav ran out of toys to play with and things to giggle about, he collapsed in my arms to rest. Damon kept looking at his own hands, as if not to acknowledge the sleeping boy. **_

"_**Damon," I whispered before lifting Mav onto his lap. Mav didn't budge from his sleep. Damon nervously held the boy, almost pulling his arms away. "No, it's okay to cradle him."**_

_**I smiled as Damon brushed the backs of his fingers along his son's cheek. He began to smile, completely perplexed by the child. And just before Jo knocked on the door, Damon leant down and whispered something into his ear, and whatever it was, I feel by some miracle Mav had heard him. **_

Damon brings me dinner, but I cannot eat. I have not left the bathroom since Maverick went to bed in Jo's room, although it was not a willing departure. The pain became too much, and I could no longer keep from crying out. Everyone could see how nauseous I looked and the way my bladder bulged from my refusal to pee from fear of more pain. Mav began to cry when Damon carried him away, but I smiled at the boy and told him we'd see him in the morning.

Maverick has become close with Damon and me. We visit him every night for hours, and of course the boy follows me wherever I go for the daytime chores. Even Damon cannot deny how much more attached his son is to him, even if Mav isn't sure what this man is to him just yet. He is so used to calling Wes "Dad," so we don't expect the boy to change or be forced to call Damon something other than his own name.

"UGH," I nearly bark, "It just hurts so much."

As I relieve my bladder, I cannot help but grip the sides of the toilet. There is a constant burning alongside the sharp pains running through my back and abdomen. Damon paces the bedroom, arms crossed, unsure how to help. He respects my privacy in the bathroom, but as my cries seem to grow, I know he is tempted to walk right in to help. Then finally, no longer able to take the confines of this small, echoey room, I pull up my underwear and leave.

"Tell me what I can do," He sighs into his face. "Please."

I notice the sections of his messy black hair from where he must have pulled at it nervously. He lifts his eyes to watch me kneel beside the bed and press my forehead to the mattress. Slowly he shuffles over and gets to his knees too.

"Is it okay if I touch you?" I feel my breath hitch, but I nod.

His hands softly cup the back of my neck and shoulders. I cry out from the pain in my back, and Damon, almost hiccuping in fear, pushes himself closer, until his chest nearly spoons the curve of my spine. He moves a hand to my hip and hushes me, swaying it slightly. I can feel the roughness of his jeans through my dress and underwear. His left arm swoops under me to hold my hips in a sling.

"You can relax, I've got you," He whispers.

"AAAUGH," I grumble into the pillow, "Fuck."

With his right hand, he draws patterns on my upper back with his fingertips. He hushes me and presses a warm pack to soothe my kidneys. Whenever my body thrashes in agony, he tightens his hold and rakes his fingers through my loose and wild hair. For so long, he sways and soothes, sways and soothes.

"I-I think I need to sleep," I whimper.

For a while, I writhe around on the bed until a knock comes to the door. Damon rises from his seat beside me to open it. Bonnie smiles at me past the wall of muscle blocking the path to the bed. I nod to Damon for her to come in.

"Damon, Bonnie can take care of me overnight. You've been with me from the beginning, and you need sleep," I tell him with a small, almost pathetic smile. He touches the back of my resting hand, staring at it before nodding blankly. "Thank you for taking care of me." I place my other hand on top of his, and he looks up at me.

He pulls away emotionlessly, like I've said something awful. I watch him, a knot forming in my throat. As the door clicks behind him, Bonnie begins spewing what seems to be something of importance. But she stops to grab my hand as I suddenly clench and hiss through more scorching anguish.

"I heard Damon speaking to Wes earlier. He looked like a ghost and he kept grabbing at his hair and begging the doctor not to let you die. Why would he even give a flying fuck?" She asks, eyebrows knitted.

"I have no idea, but wow, he sounds almost...scared," I say in shock.

"He probably wants the chance to kill you himself, like he did that girl," Bonnie gestures toward Regan's wall of frames. "Wouldn't be so fun if you died of natural causes."

I shake my head. "No, I'm finding it hard to believe lately that that's a possibility. I mean he seems super guilty, but I really think he loved-"

"Well, duh, that's why he had to get rid of her. Now she probably haunts him for what he did to her. Maybe she wanted to leave and he wouldn't let her. Then when she protested, he killed her. One of those 'If I can't have you, no one can' scenarios, you know?" Bonnie's eyes grow, almost like she's figured out some puzzle.

I grab hold of the sheets, grinding my teeth together again. "Just pass already," I cry. I gasp in relief as the sharp pain dies down, leaving me to just the feeling of my kidneys on fire.

"Bonnie, d-do you really think he's capable of killing me?" I ask almost too calmly.

"Not right now. You haven't asked to leave yet. I just don't trust that he didn't kill that girl. It all makes sen-"

"Come on, don't talk about him like you know him. The man he was before Regan died was not a killer."

"Suddenly Team Devil, are we?" Bonnie grins.

"NO! I just...bet she died suddenly and he wasn't ready," I mumble until I nearly choke on my words. "Maybe Wes killed her. On purpose. Do you think that is why Damon hates everyone so much? Maybe he can't prove that Wes did it, but he knows."

"Could be." Bonnie's voice lowers into a whisper, "I just know that you stand up for him a lot, like at Mav's party. You're supposed to be finding every reason to leave him so you can go home."

"It's just harder than I thought. I want to hate him...but he's like this sad child lying helplessly and crying out for help. He looks so tough on the outside, but he's broken inside. I swear he confides in me like only I can see through the tough exterior. It scares me."

_**He had a glass bottle in his hand, but for weeks it had been empty. Today he might have needed it. Outside, there was a party for Mav's third birthday, and yet the day marked something else: Regan's death. He watched from the window, wiping away the sweat he had worked up from his anxiety, **_

"_**Damon, Mav wants you there. Please come to the party," I said from the doorway. **_

_**He shook his head. "I-I can't. I have to go...away." I stepped closer to the man in front of the window, resting my hand on his shoulder. "Regan will be at the party with us, okay? Think of how excited she must be to see Mav turning three."**_

_**Damon did not respond at first, his eyes flicking to look down at his shaky hand. After a while, he nodded, "Yeah."**_

_**He walked with me down the stairs to the party outside on the lawn. There was food lining a table and some small gifts wrapped in old newspapers from the basement. Lexi had even made little hats from the same paper so that everyone could wear one. Luke's was crumpled on the lawn where he sat ripping grass out of the ground. Everyone seemed to be looking at us as we came forward.**_

_**Jo had Mav on her hip. The boy wore his paper hat with a wide grin that was covered in frosting. Everyone laughed as he shouted, "It my berday." Wes was cutting the cake when he noticed Damon's presence. **_

"_**Jo, take Mav to the bathroom and clean him up," Wes said as he set the cake knife down. **_

"_**You're not welcome here," He told Damon, "What gives you the right to show up and ruin this boy's birthday?"**_

_**Damon's hands balled up into fists at his sides. His face grew hard like stone and he stepped forward toward Wes. Everyone fell silent. **_

"_**He's my son," The black-haired man spat. I moved to block the two, but Damon couldn't see anything but Wes's eyes, which he stared at intently as a threat.**_

"_**Oh, now he's your son? Three years later and now you're suddenly his father? Jo and I have been his parents. He doesn't need a bastard father like-" **_

_**Damon lunged, but Alaric and Jeremy held him back, Elijah yanking me from the cross-fire. "Don't talk to him like that," I shrieked. "He loves that child, okay? You don't know anything."**_

_**Damon's eyes lifted and turned to me. He stopped fighting the men that had yanked and restrained him. His face had never looked so calm. He smiled just slightly, and I swear I saw his eyes water. Wes, although exasperated, let Damon stay. And later that day, Mav sat on Damon's lap and shared (more like smeared) a small piece of cake on the man's cheek with a mischievous grin. I think for the first time in months, Damon laughed without fear. He laughed until his belly hurt and until the cake had melted off his face beneath the summer sun.**_

"That's the least of your problems. I don't know how you're going to leave Mav behind, even if Damon miraculously lets you go."

"That's the problem: I don't think I can. But there's no happy ending for me, Bonnie. No matter if I stay or go, I lose people that matter so much to me. And I hate having to choose, but if given a choice I will always choose my home. My parents are waiting for their daughter and Landon is waiting for his wife and Micah is waiting for his little sister. That is where I belong."

I play with the silver band around my finger mindlessly.

"I know," Bonnie whispers with a smile.

The night is rough, and although Bonnie attempts to stay awake, her eyes flutter shut at some point. Repeatedly, I scream my agony into a pillow as if to trap the pain. I think about Damon for endless hours, remembering the way he held and touched me through my discomfort. I think about these past few months of his metamorphosis, an evolution into a man that everyone believed to be lost. He is still sad, controlling, and lost but Damon is also mellow, concerned, and considerate beneath them.

My throat grows taut. I drag my feet to the bathroom and try peeing again. I grind my teeth as the burning begins. How can I do this to him? Can I? I play with my silver band again and shake my head wildly; of course I can...I have to. The pain peaks and I cry, "Kill me, someone, anyone. Please have mercy." Then suddenly, for whatever reason, the pain finally ceases.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Thank you to **LiveBreatheVampires** for her help!

**Analysis: **This chapter takes place many months in the future and is told through a series of flashbacks that accompany Elena passing a very painful kidney stone. We see that Vicky has gone mad, completely enveloped in hallucinations where she is chased by rich and successful men. She has control over who is allowed to have her heart, which is a satisfying feeling for a girl who was abused by multiple men that she wanted nothing to do with. As we read on, we realize that the title of the chapter may well describe what Elena will do to Damon if she continues to use him like this. The physical pain she experiences resembles what Damon will feel internally once he realizes Elena's true intentions, and it will no doubt kill whatever light is still inside him. As Elena continues to observe, Damon is a very delicate and sensitive man only around her and Mav. We see a new side to Damon that is gentle and patient and selfless (like how he was before Regan's death). Sometimes, there is a little boy inside him crying for Elena to help him, and although she seems to be, we know her plans to use his vulnerability to go home. We see this when Elena is able to reassure Damon about holding and interacting with his son, and then again when she convinces Damon that Bonnie can care for her. We see this power again at Mav's birthday party when she is able to convince him to go and then defends his right to be there in front of everyone. She has an intangible power over him lately, and she admits how much this control scares her. On another note, Bonnie and Elena are still convinced that Regan was murdered, but while Bonnie believes it was Damon, Elena considers Wes as a possible suspect. Either way, Elena knows she must return home. There is this desperate need to survive, no matter whom she takes down with her. But is it justified or should we pity this broken man she's pretending to help?

Thank you to everyone for their immense love and support! It is amazing, and I am so grateful! xoxo Ren


	19. To Revive

"_**To revive sorrow is cruel."**_ _**~Sophocles**_

**Damon**

I don't think Elena has ever asked to be drawn, but here she is before me with a soft smile and long bare legs dangling over the arm of a chair. She stares off, holding herself completely still while I work in quick strokes to gather an outline of her tall silhouette. I smile at her once in awhile with shy eyes. It takes us a few minutes to realize the sun speckling her body with the shadows of leaves just outside the window, and we both chuckle.

"This color dress looks really nice on you," I say as I look down to add more short pencil lines on the white paper.

Her eyes click down as if to make sure I'm not joking about the beautiful warm pink of her newest dress.

"Thanks," She coyly mutters before moving her gaze to its original pose. "Lexi helped me sew it."

Long, chocolate tendrils drape her collar bones, blowing just slightly from the draft of the room. It's hard to tear my eyes away from her for some reason. Drawing the outline of her lips becomes the most difficult part because I have memorized them so well lately, staring at them as she sleeps, as she speaks, as she smiles. I try to hold back a grin, but Elena doesn't seem to notice.

"Do you like to dance?" I ask, looking up from the pad.

Elena looks at me in surprise at first but nods. "I-I've never really done it except at the soldier's ball when I was a little girl."

"I'm an awful dancer, if you can believe it."

She bursts out in laughter, covering her mouth to contain herself. I restrain a chuckle bubbling up inside my chest. "You'll have to teach me then," I tell her, moving my eyes back down to the paper. I know that she is blushing, turning her burning cheeks away with lips pressed firmly together to keep from smiling.

Soon enough, however, our gazes meet timidly. "Do you have any hobbies, Elena?"

"What's a hobby?" She questions curiously, pushing a loose strand from her face.

"It's something you enjoy doing in your leisure time, like singing or drawing."

Most would find Elena's naivety to be strange, but in Pryhaven hobbies did not exist, nor was anything pleasurable referred to as such. I like to think that as a child I genuinely believed that there was so much more than what the government showed to us. Something inside an innocent child knows somehow that they are meant to be more than what is placed before them.

"I don't know," Elena finally replies. "I don't have time for those things. I don't think so."

Not knowing what to say, I smile at her, pausing a little.

"That's good. This means that we could explore together. I could help you."

I turn my attention to the paper, holding the pencil between my fingers as I sketch. Her ears, small and delicate, are quite complex to draw. I erase it and start again, this time making sure that I'm precise.

A few minutes later, I raise my head to look at her again. However, my breath catches in my throat when I see her struggling to slide the sleeve of her dress down until it is off her shoulder. With her eyes concentrated on the task, she doesn't realize that I'm looking at her intensely, swallowing back the waves of desire. My eyes lock with her bare shoulder and the slender column of her throat, and I want nothing more than to put my lips there.

She looks at me and I am sure that I've been caught, because her skin flushes once again. It is true that she probably has no idea what she is really doing to me; but the fact that she was doing something like that could mean more. I delight in the thought of her wanting me back. It's been months, and I feel her becoming so close to me, like she can sense how much I care for her too. She is one of the few people, or maybe the only person who can see the real me.

"Elena," I say almost unsure, "Can you help me with something in return?"

"Um...yeah." She tries to smile, but she doesn't know the magnitude of my favor.

"Can you help me to give up meat?" I keep sketching, as if just casually remarking about the weather.

"Of course!" She nearly shouts, jumping up from the chair and clasping her hands together tightly. "Yes. Yes. Yes, Damon!"

I chuckle, looking down at the portrait. "Calm down. I can't sketch you when you're moving all over the place."

But nothing can stop her, not even herself, because surely it is not I who kept her from wriggling under my skin and into my veins. I fought so bravely not to let her infect me, and yet here I am writhing as she spreads herself to overtake this beast. I feel my breath leave me and my soul open like the envelope with which I had been tucked away in. I don't know when I began to breathe again; I just know that I did. Elena smiles at me once more and I know for a fact that I am breathing something invigorating and pure.

A knock comes to the door just then and when it swings open, Maverick's little waving hand is the first thing to appear. He runs toward Elena, who is still standing with a wide grin. She picks the child up and kisses his cheek. I rise from my seat, setting the sketch pad down to press my lips to his cheek too. He throws his arms around my neck and giggles.

"Elena, I was thinking of having Mav sleep in our room a couple times a week," I tell her as she hands him over to me.

"Are Jo and Wes okay with it?" She asks in concern.

Only hours before had I checked with the couple. They hoped the day would never come that Maverick's blood father would want a piece of his son's life. Maverick is their child and their love and they have indeed raised him. To share him, more and more with each passing month may be too much. But I know now that with Elena by my side I can do this. I can be a father to my child.

"Jo was happy, but Wes could have been a little happier." We both look at each other like we know Wes's reluctant nature.

"What do you think, Mav? Do you want to have some sleepovers in our room?" She coos, tickling his tummy and stepping back to sit on the bed to watch me.

"Yes pwease, 'Lena!" He shouts, bouncing on my hip.

Mav points at the snow just outside the window with a huge goofy smile. I carry him to the sill for a better view and moments later Elena joins us. Our reflections just barely show in the glass before us, but there we are. Three souls brought together by fate.

"Should we go play in it?" I ask casually.

Both their faces light up, and I can't help but smile. For the remainder of the little daylight we still have, the three of us roll around in the snow with gloves and hats knitted by the ladies from years past. We throw snowballs and kick mounds and scream as Elena throws the cold whiteness down my shirt to sizzle my skin. I yank her hand in protest, pulling her against me angrily, like I may punish her for her nasty little trick. Our lips are so close and I smile.

"Dance with me," I beckon playfully, wrapping an arm around the small of her back and taking the other hand in mine. I step on her feet again and again, tripping but laughing anyway and trying to hum the tune of our most recent piano playing.

"I told you I can't dance," I slyly mumble, looking down and watching the placement of my feet. Elena continues to laugh at my efforts until my eyes lock with hers.

"I just have to teach you." Her face lights up and she moves towards me. For the first time ever, there is completely no hesitation. It is like she is flowing towards me, like there is absolutely no fear. It is obvious that she is comfortable.

She takes my hand in hers and then puts it around her waist. Her eyes lock with mine, her face red as a beet. Feeling the skin of her waist through the thin material, I gently stroke. She lets me. In fact, it is like she is melting in my arms, so relaxed, so at ease, and yet so painfully shy.

"Damon…" She whispers, her voice like music to my ears.

"Show me how to dance," I say, and she smiles, counting to three. It takes a while, but then I copy her movements and soon we are connected, our feet in sync.

For some reason I can't help but imagine her naked below me, her hand guiding me to her peach to slide between the wet folds. I imagine her whispering my name in my ears as pull her on my lap, spread her legs, and explore her. I imagine her back pressed to my bare chest and her whimpers as her toes curl and her hips buck. Her juices drip onto me but she opens more and more, throwing her head back and allowing me to tweak her pink nipples, like spring flowers bursting from beneath the snow.

"Are you okay?" Her voice pulls me back to reality.

"You're just really, really beautiful," I smirk, and it's like she knows there something devious beneath the curve of my lips. She sticks her tongue out and runs to grab Maverick before spinning the boy in circles of endless joy.

* * *

Wes brings me along to Vicky's room where she sits on the floor at a make-shift table assembled out of books and old newspapers. She is dressed in a heap of fabric that most likely came from curtains yanked off the crooked rod in the window. Even I am a little hesitant to enter, but Wes thinks nothing of this oddity. Vicky smiles up at him, eyes circled with bags. Blood dries in streams down her earlobes from where she used a safety pin to stab them.

"So many men have given me diamond earrings. They were trying to win my heart, Mr. Maxfield, but don't they know that I don't take easily to bribes?" She tells him arrogantly, pushing back her knotted hair. "If anyone comes to the main door, tell them I am far too busy to be bothered."

"Yes, Vick-"

"Ms. Donovan, please," The woman corrects him.

"Ms. Donovan, will you please take my hand and come over to the bed so that I can examine you?" Wes tries to play along, but I can only cringe at the thought of being so out of reality.

Then again, am I any different from this mess of a human being? Have I not been far from reality too, wishing to escape by any means possible? Vicky has been destroyed, by humans, by her own kind. Although I shouldn't, I step forward to help her stand. She gasps as my hand reaches out for hers, smiling graciously and raising her chin proudly. A stench fills my nose, like perfume mixed with decaying flesh. My jaw stiffens.

"And who is this strapping young man you have brought along?" Vicky bellows.

"I'm Mr. Salvatore. It's my pleasure to assist you, madam," I tell her as we step toward the bed.

The curtains drag for many feet behind her and she continues to click her eyes up to look at me before we reach the bed. She sits down like a prince has brought her to her throne. But she is far from the princess her mind has conjured for her to believe. Death is a better depiction, a better spouse for her to have married. Her body is but bones with sunken eyes, cracked lips, infected and bloody ears, and hair matted into a nest atop her head. The awful odor still lingers even as I take a step back to make room for Wes.

"Please do be careful not to disrupt my hair. It was just done by Ms. Georgia before she had to leave," She nearly whines as Wes begins to check her eyes and skin with a flashlight.

"Ms. Donovan, when was your last menstrual cycle?" He asks, but she nearly coughs in disgust.

"How dare you ask such a thing!" She barks.

"Damon, you're going to have to help me," Wes whispers to me as he stands back up.

She cries out as he grabs her wrist and pricks her with a needle I had failed to see in his hand. Within a couple minutes her words slur and her muscles slack. I help Wes move her to a reclined position against her pillows smudged with red smears of lipstick and gallons of wicked perfume. Her eyes finally fall shut into a peaceful bliss where the demons of reality cannot harm her and her only fear if of waking up.

"We're going to wash everything and fix her up. It's about time we intervened."

"You mean we should have intervened long ago, before we allowed them to destroy her," I say in a mournful tone, "We let her be destroyed. Then, because we destroyed her we think ourselves heroes for helping her, but only by imprisoning her again...this time behind walls rather than her sanity. We killed her a long time ago, Wes...by doing nothing at all."

"Damon, freedom-"

"With freedom comes a moral obligation. There comes a point where freedom is no longer will but instead some selfish proclamation of evil. You gave Tyler and Jeremy the freedom to destroy an innocent human being...you gave them the freedom to do wrong. What is the point of freedom if we do not use it to stop this senseless affliction?"

"We allowed the government their freedom to control us. They took it from us all. Who is to say your definition of freedom is right?"

"Look what they did to Tyler and Vicky and Bonnie and Regan. Look what they fucking did!"

"And look what you did to Elena," He hisses, unwrapping the curtains from Vicky's thin body.

The stench fills the air and we both cringe in horror. Old blood and urine and who knows what else covers her body and the curtains. We did this to her. All of us. She became this because we thought her abusers' freedoms were far more important than her own. I scoop her naked body from the mess, her neck snapping back limply. I refuse to let Wes touch her now.

"Don't you dare tell me that she became this on her own. Don't you dare," I hiss through clenched teeth before marching toward the shower inside her shared bathroom.

I sit her bottom on the floor of the shower and begin to just let the water flow over her and into to her and around her and seemingly through her. Her lips look to be kissing the steam as it rises, but she is not here with us right now. She is in a world where she is free, because we refused to give it to her. I hold her hand and think only of Elena. Could she have reached this barren point of no return. A few more weeks, months, maybe a year...how long would it take for her to lose her sanity? I begin lathering the woman's skin with so much soap and sloughing her skin of whatever has clung to her for far too long. Maybe she can awaken in just a little lighter and less afraid of the life waiting for her back on earth. But she is too far gone, isn't she?

"I won't let Elena ever become like this," I say to the unconscious body beside me.

_**Elena's excruciating pain could be heard throughout the house. Her muffled screams as the kidney stone dragged itself like a knife inside her. I paced the hallway with hidden tears that I quickly wiped away for fear of someone seeing. Wes kept telling me she was okay, but I could not take it. The memories of Regan's own demise slammed into me like a belt against my shoulder blades.**_

_**"Don't let another girl I love be taken from me, Wes," I whimpered, grabbing at my hair and yanking ruthlessly.**_

_**"You love her?" He asked, almost in confusion.**_

_**"...yes...," I mumbled.**_

_**"She's going to be fine. It will pass, okay?"**_

_**But those same words had fluttered through my mind for hours before Regan's death and for many after. I shook my head, "You promise me. You promise this time."**_

_**"Dam-"**_

_**"Fuck you," I hissed before returning to Elena's side. Our eyes met, and somehow she knew I was not going to leave her there to suffer. And I didn't. I stayed for hours, holding her hand, rubbing her back, and reminding her that death would not harm her.**_

For what feels like hours I work to remove the bloody pins from Vicky's ears, untangle her hair, and dry her body with a towel. There are so many scratches on her hips from where someone had likely dug their nails into her flesh. Her back was covered in bite marks and a scar with little dots indicating stitches on her arm. Wes has had the sheets changed and a proper nightgown laid out on the dresser for when I finish. I slip it over her head and pull it down before carrying her to the clean sheets which wait for her.

Maybe she'll wake up and know her identity and remember where she is and what year it is and know that there are no grand balls to attend or dates to be brought on. Maybe she'll wake up and just be Vicky again, like the young schoolgirl she was when Jeremy took her. Maybe her dignity can be scraped off of the floor and somehow sewn into the seams of her soul. Maybe someday she will forgive humanity for its wrongdoings, but then again, maybe she shouldn't. That would indeed be her own rebellion...to become what she couldn't be, and not in our world, but in her own.

"You're perfect, Vicky," I tell her softly, "Whatever world you decide to live in. This one has treated you pretty shittily."

The room smells good now and with the window slightly cracked, it smells like winter. I glance at Vicky as I leave, with a small smile and a hope that maybe she won't wake up at all. Some freedoms are far better than others, and for all her suffering, death would be the very best.

Commotion from downstairs grows as I step closer to the staircase. I take a deep breath as I descend the stairs. The group must be back from the supply run in Lochwind. Luke is the loudest, shouting about dead soldiers when I finally enter the kitchen. Eyes look up for a moment at me before returning to Luke. Elena tiptoes from the room, hiding her face away from everyone as she walks. My brows furrows in concern.

"What's going on?" I whisper to Jenna.

"Pryhaven was all over the news in Lochwind. It turns out almost none of the deployed soldiers returned home last year, around the time you and the others went there. Government supposedly sent them out into the wilderness to die with no food or water. Just sickening."

All of us men were supposed to be a part of that army, and if we had stayed surely we would have been. Maybe ten years ago we would not have been sent out into the middle of nowhere to die. But then again, maybe we would have. I feel my stomach lurch. The girls begin digging through boxes of food and supplies from the raid to supposedly unpack it, but they are secretly searching for something exciting. They hope for hairbows and bars of chocolate and something to hang around their necks. I begin to wonder where Elena has gone off to. Maybe Mav is outside with Jo playing in the snow. Maybe she forgot how badly she needed to pee. Or maybe just hearing the name of her old city broke her to her very core.

* * *

After rice and vegetables with cornbread, I bring a plate with me upstairs to Elena. She sits on the bed and holds a book. A smile appears as I step into the room. I set the plate down before grabbing at her hands to coax her from the bed.

"I have to show you something," I whisper, leading her over to my desk.

Standing behind her, I reach around her to open the sketching pad. "You can look," I tell her.

As she turns each page, she looks in awe at each. One if of a sleeping baby Maverick, many of Regan, some of Elena's partially drawn face, and one of her asleep completely. The dark smears of lead bleed across the pages and Elena reaches out as if to heal them. When she turns the page, it is a sketch of us kissing, our naked bodies tangled, holding the other. Lips touch and chests press together softly. I can feel Elena's back push against me as she shakily looks at it.

"Damon," She chokes nervously.

"Shhh," I hush, "What do you think?"

I turn the page for her and there she is, long silhouette draped over her chair, soft smile and longing gaze. My fingers begin to brush her long brown hair. Her lungs rattle and she grabs the desk for support. She can feel my hot breath on her neck and the way my left arm wraps around her waist. A tear nearly misses the page. I step back with her against me.

"I need to go home, Damon," She shakily tells me. "Please let me."

It takes me by surprise, but I slightly chuckle in disbelief, turning her to face me. My hand cups her cheek. Elena's every breath only releases her sobs like vapors around me. I smile at her and rest my other hand on her hip.

"Don't be silly," I whisper, "Elena, I know you're scared of these feelings. I am too, okay?"

I sink to my knees and wrap my arms around her waist, pressing my cheek to her dress. Her sobs grow. "We'll get through this together, baby."

"Damon, I-I," She sputters, but I hush her, knowing how difficult it can be to admit it back.

"You have changed me so much...gosh, Elena. I'll take care of you," I tell her with no fear. It feels so good, like my need to be with her is boiling over inside me. This beautiful venom has spread throughout me, right into the marrow of my bones. I am pumped full of her, and somehow I have relinquished to the infection. It feels good to be vulnerable. How lucky I am to have such a beautiful poison within me, killing me, only to rebirth me into a new man.

I stand again, but her desperate tears and horrid sobs have not ceased. Her lips quiver and she can't look me in the eyes, so I hold her face to force her to stare at me, "We don't have to pretend anymore. It's just us here."

"No, Damon. I have to-"

I push her hair from her reddened cheeks, stained with streaks of tears. My lips kiss them away, silencing her. Her heart beats fiercely against my chest. I bring my right hand to the back of her neck and the other to cup just below her ribs. And for some reason I cannot help but close my eyes as I drag my lips toward hers, like they've been searching for them among the tears. They meet and I feel the electricity run through my pores and right into my heart, resuscitating it. Her lips are soft and smooth and limp as I move against them.

"I love you," I breathe, nipping at them again. For a moment, I can hear my own heartbeat thumping. Whatever she has done to me, it has awakened something inside me. Elena's brutal whimpers only worsen.

"What's wrong?" I hug her close to me, swaying her body and rubbing her back. "It's okay, babe. I know it's scary. I'm scared too."

Her nails dig into my back and I grab at them. "Woah, woah. Easy, baby."

"I lied," She wails. I nearly laugh because it all makes sense.

"Shhh," I hush, "I've lied to myself too. I've lied to the others. It's fine."

I kiss her temple and push her back so that I can look at her pooling eyes. The corner of her lip twitches.

"None of it was real," She shouts, "I faked my feelings for you, Damon. I just wanted to-"

The smile slowly melts from my lips. "You what?" I spit almost desperately. Her eyes grow wide, like she didn't mean to say them. My arms fall to my sides. My brows furrow and I step back. No, no, no. This can't be true. She's just scared, right? She's just afraid to admit her feelings. This couldn't happen. Not when I finally let my walls down and let her in.

"I didn't mean for it to go this far," Elena pleads, but I shake my head, continuing to step back.

My heart: shattered. Everything around me feels like a gust of wind could easily push it over. I wish to be a piece of paper so that I too could fly away, out of this horrid place. I feel something physically ache inside my chest. It hurts, whatever was once alive inside there. My eyes grow empty, I can feel them hollowing out. I can feel my face turn to stone and the humanity slip from my fingertips.

"Get. Out," is all I can manage to say because flooding my lungs is despair and betrayal and pain.

"Dam-" Her teary eyes beg.

"Get your stuff and get out. NOW." She reaches out to touch me, but I move from her.

She grabs some her clothes and a few things from the bathroom, face shocked and eyes longing to caress me like they have for so long. The door clicks shut behind her and a single tear leaks from the corner of my eye. I don't think I could ever breathe another breath, not after what she has done to me. The thought is unbearable. The pain is ineffable.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Thank you so much to my beta, **LiveBreathVampires,** for the help, edit, and support needed to pull this together!

**Analysis:** Over the months, Damon was really beginning to blossom and regain who he was before Regan's death with the help of Elena. He truly was revived. He cares so much for Elena that he is willing to change his dietary choices, confidently become a good father for Mav, and even be vulnerable for the new woman he loves (which he expresses both to Wes and to Elena). There is a slight sexual tension between them, and from what we read, Damon is completely and utterly happy. He agrees to help Wes with Vicky, who resembles what could have happened to Elena if Damon continued to treat her as poorly as he had in the beginning months of her arrival. He also comes to the realization that there must be limits to our freedom or it is no longer free for all. We see this in the case of Vicky, Tyler, Bonnie, and even Regan. Without restrictions, people will use their liberation for evil, but who are we to judge the dichotomy between moral and immoral? We also find out that most of the Pryhaven soldiers never returned home after failed government action. Later in the chapter, Damon shows Elena his VERY personal collection of sketches where his darkest secrets lie. The one Damon is most excited to show her is of them entwined among the sheets naked. Elena grows nervous and realizes just how invested Damon has become in her well-being. He begins to openly express his love and appreciation and mistakes her sobs for nervousness or shock. But in reality, Elena's huge lie cracks and she admits the truth to him. She shatters his soul, and he demands that she leaves with all her stuff in tow. Everything we had hoped for Damon's revival has crashed to the ground. What will become of him now? What will become of Mav and Elena?

Thank you for the love! xoxo Ren


	20. To Use

_**"To use violence against a peaceful man is the greatest immorality and the biggest rot ever!" ~Mehmet Murat ildan**_

**Elena**

Part of me did love Damon. Part of me had fallen for the man he had morphed into. Part of me delighted in his witty humor, his kindness, and his smile on the rare occasion that it touched his lips. So much of me wanted him back, and I even laughed at the horrid thought of tricking him into believing this swollen lie these last few weeks. He had become a great friend to me. But the way he looked at me, talked to me, held me...I knew he was in love before he had even spoken the words. I begged for it not to be true because I could not love him back. How could I ever love the one who stole me from my family and my life without my consent. He took me selfishly and without merit. Even worse, he took me from Micah before he could kiss his sister's cheek and tell her how much he had missed her smile and warmth.

I heard Alaric, Luke, and Jeremy talk about the dead soldiers of Pryhaven. Nearly 3,000 never returned home to their families. That parade after school had been a funeral. As I walked home with Landon, Micah was likely lying in a casket somewhere waiting to be buried. What if Micah was one of the few who survived? What if he was one of the ones that didn't? Damon took that from me: knowing. To know his fate, to know that he is safe, to kiss his cheek and sob into his chest, to tell him I will marry. This place took that from me. And now, I will never know. I will spend eternity wondering if my mother killed herself, if Micah is out searching for me, if my parents lost two children that day, or if they barely noticed at all. My breath caught in my throat as Luke told us, my legs painfully dragging me out of that dining room.

Now, in the silence of the hallway, I hold the only belongings I have. They all fit nicely in my arms because none of them are really mine to claim. These clothes, hair clips, and toothbrush were given to me, nothing more. I walk toward Bonnie's room, but I know it is crowded with Alaric and Jenna. I walk farther toward Vicky and not even a moment passes before I turn on my heels in fear. The only person left that I could trust: Elijah. My throat grows taut. The denial is melting away and I realize what has just happened. Damon hates me. I hate me. I hate that I couldn't hold myself together or tell him the truth about my brother. I hate that I broke his heart. I hate that my plan disintegrated into nothing. Now, I am alone and farther from home than I have ever been. I knock on Elijah's door, snorting back my emotion; it only worsens. What have I done? Just like Damon, my face grows emotionless, my eyes become blank, and for the first time in so long I feel numb. There is nothing left to fight for or plan or hope. I have lost everything and now I am dead.

No one opens the door, but it is unsurprising with the loud clatter of silverware resounding from downstairs. I enter anyway, more depressed and confused than I have ever been. Temptation begs me to throw Damon's door open and plead with him to forgive me but the thought fades away out of shame and heartbreak. The first sight to greet me is the shelving filled to the brim with books. If I have missed anything it has been this. They may be my only friends now that I have lost Damon and Micah and Mav and myself. I set my stuff down on Elijah's neatly made bed before sinking into a heap on the mattress. Tears leak from my eyes as I blankly stare ahead.

"Micah," I whisper. "Please be home. Please be waiting for me."

Elijah opens the door almost ten minutes later when my face is less red but drastically more empty looking. I can't even gaze up at him. The thought of smiling hurts. The thought of thinking burns. The thought of anything at this point is just awful. His face is shocked to see the girl he believed he could never have. Then the fear must set in as he quietly clicks the door shut and his eyes grow wide.

"Elena, you shouldn't be here. Damon is going-"

"He kicked me out," I say lifelessly, staring straight ahead.

"Really?" He asks before taking a deep breath of relief. "Elena that's...well, I'm not going to lie and say I'm not beyond thrilled. I want you to stay with me, for as long as you need."

The tears build up along my lashes again. My stomach begins to ache. I need to go home. I need to just fucking go home to Pryhaven.

"Thanks," I blubber miserably before bursting into the bathroom.

I sob, feeling the sudden vomit sliding over the lips that still tingled from Damon's kiss, the one that had sent chills through my entire body. I collapse against the toilet, letting my body sizzle on the cold tile of the floor. I can't imagine anything greater than reliving that moment with him, to bite my tongue and refuse to tell him it was all a fabrication. Could I live without Damon or could I live without knowing the fate of the brother who had grown up beside me for so long? Neither would do, and now neither will have to because they are both so far from my reach. I will marry no one, love no other, live forever in regret, and die wondering the truth.

"Elena," Elijah tells me through the door, "He won't hurt you anymore. I promise."

A long and painful wail leaves my body. No, Damon won't hurt me because I have already killed him. He won't hurt me because I hurt him far too badly for him to fight back. He will avoid me like a horrid disease that he could contract by looking at me. He will sleep at night knowing that this girl destroyed him. He will contemplate death and maybe even murder. He will give up on Mav and on himself and on life. After all he has done to show me his dedication and love, he will die of sorrow and pain.

After maybe an hour, Elijah takes my sweaty hand, leads me to his bed, and sits me on it. I don't look at him or at anything in particular. He finds my nightgown among the jumble of clothes at the end of the bed. Tears leak from my eyes as he leaves the room so that I can change into it. He returns to help me brush my teeth before laying me beneath the sheets. In the darkness of that room I feel so far from living that even my hands don't seem to move when I tell them to. For hours I beg to walk to Damon's room, shake him awake, and hope that he has forgotten everything. Maybe this is all some nightmare I will wake from. I touch my lips one last time, as if to feel him, but it only causes my stomach to twist in pain at the death of so much hope.

Hands reach out for me and yet I don't even make a sound of protest. Everything feels paralyzed, numb, departed. Elijah holds me from behind, wrapping an arm around my lifeless body.

"This is the best thing that could have happened, 'Lena. Just you see." He kisses my wet cheek while I wait for my lungs to give out. I no longer wish to exist because I have failed everyone and everything, including my own heart.

* * *

To no one's surprise, Damon could not bear to acknowledge me in the week following that night. At first, I told no one what had happened between us, not even Bonnie. I still believed in some way that I would skip up the staircase to his room and greet him like I always had after chores ended. Instead, I only entered to clean the sheets, wipe the dust from the furniture, and sweep the floor I had walked over every day for months. My hand trembled thinking about him on the other side of the door, maybe waiting to embrace me, to kiss me and hold me and laugh beside my ear. But it would never come. It was just a bare room that looked different from how I remembered it just a week before.

The frames of Regan had been taken down to reveal a bare wall above the dresser and the desk had been cleared of all his pencil sketches. I looked around in search of them. In the waste basket, pictures lay crumpled with charred sections too burnt to recognize what they could have depicted. Some looked as though he had hesitated, the curled edges stopping where Regan's face began. Even the one of us was only partially ravaged. But in the trash they still sat, waiting to be destroyed, not by Damon's fire but by someone else's. He could not be the one to do it. Maybe part of him also believed that I would walk through the door and act as though nothing had changed. Part of him still hoped that I did not burn his heart like he had his own sketches.

"Well, I'm happy about it," Bonnie tells me as she kneads dough with her hands. "He doesn't deserve you. And just think, now you can be with Elijah without Damon breathing down your neck every ten seconds."

I don't answer her, just staring at the flour covering my fingers like powdered snow. Outside, the ground is covered with it, forcing the men to concentrate on fixing up the exterior of the house, painting walls of bedrooms, and shoveling snow off the fields to keep the weight off the crops waiting to burgeon in spring. Knowing my daily schedule, Damon avoids me. I see him only at dinner where his eyes cannot bear to move from his plate. For some reason, he has not returned to eating meat. Such a curious thing to realize. It is surely not because of me that he has maintained this lifestyle.

"I don't want to be with anyone," I eventually say to Bonnie.

"Never?" She asks in surprise.

"Yeah." My lips feel parched suddenly, like just saying something so depressing could suck the moisture right out of me.

"You'll fall for Elijah soon, don't worry. I can help you get ready for the dance later, or maybe Lexi can join us…" but her words fade out as I wipe my hands on a towel before walking off toward the staircase.

I refuse to look back. I don't want to go to a fucking dance. The idea originated with Jenna, who decided we were all in need of fun since the winter had trapped us indoors. She told us to dress up and prepare to sip wine from the glass goblets she found in the basement somewhere among the boxes. Everyone seemed thrilled, including Wes who began offering a list of food to be served while others smiled at the thought of getting to dance like we had at the balls we had in Pryhaven.

As I walk through the living room, I can already hear little feet pitter patter across the creaky wood flooring. Normally I would not hesitate to smile, but even with Maverick I struggle to maintain anything that resembles happiness. He follows me around, clings to my legs as I clean, and tries to give me a smile by pushing my lips upward with his small hands.

"Hi 'Lena," He shouts.

_**Memories flash back to days ago when he had anxiously pushed the door to Elijah's room open. Many steps behind him was Damon, his hand reaching out to stop the boy in his pajamas. There I stood completely naked, frozen at the foot of Elijah's bed with my nightgown in hand. **_

"_**You're coming, wight 'Lena?" Maverick shouted with a huge grin.**_

_**I couldn't utter a word but I didn't have to because Damon had already grabbed his hand and pulled him back. **_

"_**It's just us tonight, Mav, okay? You'll see her tomorrow." He spoke to him so softly, guiding the small boy away from the door so that he could begin to shut it. **_

_**I covered myself, finally unfrozen enough to move. Damon's eyes nervously looked up at me as he began to close the door, and I stared at him, mouth agape in shock. He looked half dead, like he didn't want to believe that I could truly be in another man's room, naked of all things. Part of me wished he had invited me to join them and part of me wished he had stormed in and torn the nightgown from my hands to get a better look. But the door closed and off they went to Damon's room where, as promised, the father and son slept for the night in the bed I had drooled on for many months. **_

"Hey, Mav," I say as I continue up the staircase.

"Sweep with me pwease!" My throat grows taut.

"Sorry but no girls are allowed to join. That's the rule. We can spend the daytime together instead, buddy," I tell him with my best attempt at a smile. Oh, how the lies never stop once they've begun. Even Mav is forced to be entwined in this never-ending game of deception.

If only he could understand just how complicated this whole mess has become. How do I explain to a child why two people no longer play together or laugh or sleep on the same bed? It seems pathetic but after lying for so long to everyone, I am exhausted. At least Damon has not given up on Maverick or on himself. If anything, he seems more tightly held together than I am. It is only me who is falling apart, surrounded by people like Bonnie and Elijah who love this recent outcome and those like Damon and Mav who couldn't imagine anything worse. Both undeniably break my heart to witness.

Later that night, against my protests and hopes of barricading myself inside Elijah's room, Lexi, Bonnie, Jo, and Jenna drag me to Jo's room where she holds a stack of dresses and a small wooden box filled with what turns out to be something they once called make-up. I sit as Jo pulls my tattered hair back into an intricate braided bun while the others choose a dress for me, fighting over which went better with my raggedy olive skin. They choose a navy blue gown with sparkles all down the sides. The dress stinks horribly of old age and poor storage but no one seems to care as they throw it over my head and tighten the ribbons that criss-cross all the way down.

By the time they are done, they have succeeded in restricting my ribcage enough that I can barely get a full breath of air into my lungs. Lipstick is smeared across my lips and pink powder dragged lightly over my cheekbones. I try to smile to deter them from finding out what travesty has occurred between me and Damon, but luckily everyone thinks that nothing at all is wrong, since my and Damon's only noticeable interactions seemed to be in the privacy of our bedroom. Rather than have them interrogate me, I try to be cooperative when they ask if I like the dress and laugh when they crack a joke about Luke showing up with a ponytail at the back of his head like a girl. It has never hurt so much to fake a laugh but for the sake of remaining hidden I do it again and again, feeling my stomach knot at the thought of having to continue all night.

Just as Wes begins rapping the door with his knuckles, we all look around at each other: Bonnie in green to match her eyes, Jo in red to show off her curves, and Lexi in a maroon because everyone agreed that she looked too good not to wear it. Some of the dresses are falling apart in places, or discolored from years of living in a basement. I sigh as we all walk downstairs, our bare feet sticking to the polished floors with every step. Soft piano music grows louder as we move across the first floor toward the source, and I can feel my stomach lurch at the thought of being gawked at for wearing this revealing dress.

The men are all standing around the parlor area adjacent to the main living area. Damon's bright blue eyes catch my wandering gaze first, causing my breath to catch in my throat. He wears straight black pants, a white button down tucked into them, and a black jacket over the top. A worn and battered tie hangs around his neck, but all I can see when I look at him are those eyes, which bore into mine and pierce my bitter soul. I feel someone touch my arm, but it is not Damon.

"You look stunning," Elijah whispers, the feel of his sudden breath sending shivers up my bare arms.

He too is dressed in a tie and jacket which smells of the same antiquity as my own dress. The white of his shirt looks almost brown with age but no one is supposed to care tonight. We are to realize the gift of each other's presence and maybe even their beauty. Elijah pushes a glass goblet into my right hand, clinking his against mine. Vicky, dressed in only a nightgown and hair wildly pushed to one side towers over a tray of little muffins, which every few seconds appears to be missing yet another dessert from the rows of them that were once there. The music player sits off on a table beside Wes, who keeps adjusting the sound depending on how loud the conversations become. Everyone seems to be drinking and chatting away, even Damon who talks to Alaric as he sips from his glass.

"Elena, darling, let's dance." Before I can protest, Elijah sets our drinks down and pulls me to the center of the parlor where Lexi and Tyler hold each other as they sway.

Damon watches my every step. My heart races. Those blue orbs follow Elijah's hands as they each move to encompass me: one to rest on my right hip and the other to hold my rickety hand. The piano music is slow but rhythmic, a lot like what Damon and I had played together in the basement what seems to be years ago. Every time our bodies rotate so that I face Damon, my face fills with blood and I scrunch Elijah's jacket nervously. I can feel his hand snake up my back and then back down to my butt. My feet nearly stumble in shock. Damon jolts forward but he stops himself. I hide my face from the spectating man as best I can, even if I have done nothing wrong.

"Poor man can't understand you're not his anymore," Elijah mutters almost bitterly, smirking slightly and lifting his chin higher.

"I don't belong to a-anyone," I tell him. By now, everyone should realize this, especially someone as honorable as Elijah.

"But we can make him believe that you do," He smiles, cupping my face and pressing his lips against mine.

It takes me many moments to register what is happening as his lips hungrily nip at mine. We stop moving, his free hand sliding to the back of my neck as if to hold me here. My eyes stay open, clicking erratically left and right. To my surprise I don't fight him. I remain paralyzed, lips completely limp and confused. Maybe I have given up caring. Maybe I have lost the strength to fight back. But what about Damon? Not here, not like this. I tear my face away finally. Damon's jaw is stiff, teeth clenched and lips pressed tightly together.

"Damon," I say in a long and whispery breath that seems to echo enough to sound like a desperate scream.

He sets his goblet down and stares at me like knives may shoot from his eyes. His legs march toward the parlor doors and although Elijah tries to hold me back, I run after the raven-haired man, fighting against the fabric restraining my ribs. He only makes it to the first step of the staircase before he whips around to look at me angrily.

"Please," I choke, tears skinning my cheeks. "I didn't want to kiss him and you know it."

His jaw doesn't loosen one bit. "I'm not sure I know anything anymore, especially about you," he spits.

"Damon, I do love you." The words slip from my mouth before I can stop them. "But my brother may have been one of those dead fucking soldiers that my government killed, okay? I need to know what happened to him-"

"By using me?" He shakes his head, looking as though he could vomit right on the stairs. "Just stay away, got it? People are always leaving me: Verity, my brother, Regan...You're not the fucking first and you're probably not the last. Just get the hell away."

I want to throw myself at his feet, but my ribs remind me of how painfully tight this dress is when my breathing hitches, and my blood begins to pump, and the desperation peaks. I call after him as he ascends the steps two at a time until he is out of sight and only the sound of my frantic voice repeating his name again and again remains.

* * *

I lay in bed, relieved of my restrictive gown and taut hair. With my face covered in smeared lipstick and tear streaks, no one felt it wrong to let me leave the party after only 15 minutes. But for two hours I toss and turn, somehow unable to forget Damon's piercing gaze and harsh words. How had I never realized that Regan was not the only person to break his heart? Many before me had left him, in ways I'm not sure I understand, but even his brother was not so keen on sticking around. He believed that I would stay with him here, to be the first person not to leave him. At least with Mav he chose to stay away, but everyone else had left Damon because they could, even if death is said to be involuntary. They still did. My eyes well up. I just wish to make things right, to help him forgive the grave things I have spoken without much consideration for Damon himself.

Elijah stumbles into the room at what I believe to be 1 am. He falls into bed beside me and is immediately dead asleep. I somehow manage to fall asleep too, maybe relieved to have another person in the same room. But it is all short-lived as I am awakened by a heavy mass on top of me, lips against mine, and hands slipping beneath my nightgown. It is so dark that when I open my eyes I see only black. I tremble as my nightgown moves higher and higher until it is lodged beneath my armpits. Lips continue to attack mine. Only soft whimpers leak from me, like the screaming inside cannot be expressed for some reason.

"What are you doing? Please s-stop," I warble, pushing against their chest.

"You wanted this...what husbands and wives do," A voice grumbles, kissing my neck and then trailing them back up to meet my quivering pout.

I did want that, just so Damon couldn't do it to me first. But now I never want it. I don't ever want to belong to someone. His hands are all over my exposed body, sliding on my breasts and down my sides to push my knees apart until he can force his body between them. I panic, bucking against his weight but he softly laughs as he kisses me. His breath burns as it vents against my skin and smells of alcohol.

"Yeah, you can buck your hips. That's it."

I finally realize it's Elijah who has me beneath him, on my back with legs spread just how Bonnie had been when I cried out for someone to save her. But no one can save me. His lips feed on mine so fiercely that I cannot even scream. The pressure of his body sinking into mine is too great to escape. Tears leak over my temples. He grunts as he reaches his hand down between my legs.

"Just trust me," He mumbles against my trembling lips.

"I-I don't kn-" but my entire body stops completely as something fills me so painfully that I cannot breathe.

A sob rips through my core, my head snapping back in shock and fear. His hips rock against me and the sweat of his chest clings to my breasts, holding us closer together the more I fight to be apart. My mouth hangs agape as tears continue to leak from me. With every breath I wonder when it will end, when the emptiness inside me will return. His lips return to mine as he softly groans and grunts, his hips still slapping against mine. My body quivers. I try to push on his broad shoulders but nothing will remove this fullness moving inside me. What is happening to my body, to me, to my voice? My heart pounds against my chest and I can hear it echo through the entire room.

"Elijah," I whimper, but he only hushes me, slipping a finger between my legs like a parent thrusting a candy into their child's hand to quiet them. It only makes me more fearful, but I've lost any will left to cry now. There are painful tingles webbing out from thighs and as he rubs me, I cannot bear thinking about his hand in my private parts.

With Damon hating me and no hope of ever returning home, I grow limp, closing my eyes and even holding Elijah's back. I lie there for endless minutes, waiting for the air to meet the cool sweat of my sore breasts or the light to touch my lifeless lips. He eventually stops, his moaning coming to a peak wherein a breathy growl rolls through my right eardrum. I listen to his panting as he finally rolls off me to allow the cold sheets to collapse onto my sticky chest. The relief is sudden and exhilarating, like being pulled from the pool of water in which I had been drowning. Finally free of him, I crawl from the bed, holding the wood flooring with my hands as I feel around for the bathroom entrance.

Once the door swings shut behind me, I let out a great sob which I had somehow withheld beneath those sheets. The water is cold against my skin and although I should fear it in the dead of winter, I rather embrace the harshness of the sensation all over my sweaty corpse. I cannot bear to look down at the remains of my most private area or even the redness of my breasts from being pressed on by a muscled body. I am so confused, just as lost as Damon when I told him I could not love him back. Everything feels so dirty and different and foreign, like it no longer belongs to me. I sit on the floor of the shower, in complete denial at the thought of what has happened. Now Damon will surely see nothing but shame smeared across my mouth like lipstick.

I eventually throw my nightgown back on, tiptoe through the bedroom where Elijah softly snores, and down the dark hall. For a moment, I almost think to knock on Damon's door but the humiliation is too great and so I make my way down the staircase to the one place far from everyone. I sit on the sofa for a few minutes, knees pinned together and my chest hunched forward. The thought of anyone seeing me scares me, like they know what I have done...but what have I done? What has Elijah done? I sink down into the cushions, for I am broken and lonely and dead now, pondering still what would have happened if only I hadn't broken Damon first. If only.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Thank you to** LiveBreatheVampires** for her friendship and help!

**Analysis:** Elena uses Damon, and almost like the universe wanted her to taste her own medicine, Elijah uses her. We find out that hearing of the 3,000 dead Pryhaven soldiers triggered her need to return home sooner than she planned, which is why she blurted out the truth about using Damon after he kissed her. Elena was torn between her love for him and her desire to learn of her brother's fate. Now kicked out, she falls into a deep depression while living with Elijah and experiences two types of people: those happy to see Damon out of her life and those who are saddened at his absence. Maverick falls into the latter category, unable to understand why Elena no longer joins in when Damon is around. To Elena's surprise, Damon doesn't give up on his son or on his choice to abstain from meat. It seems getting his heart broken cannot stop him from continuing to be the man he has wanted to be again for so long. It also proves that Damon does not NEED Elena but rather prefers her be around because she makes him happy. The house has a party where Elijah decides to show off with Elena in front of Damon. The plan works too well and before long she chases after the raven-haired man but he seems far from understanding...and in a way that's good. Damon's strength in this chapter really shines. He moves on without her, and although saddened at her betrayal, he knows he is a good person and worthy of better. His room had been cleared out of Regan's frames and his sketches, a cleansing of sorts to give him a fresh start. Then, in the end, a liquored up Elijah takes Elena's virginity. But is he the bad guy or was this a dubious consent of sorts? Well, she was very confused and panics, but after a while gives up fighting completely. The depression becomes too much for her because she knows she'll never go home, find out what happened to her soldier brother, or be with Damon (whom she admits that she in fact loves). As happy as we should feel about Elena getting what she deserved for destroying Damon, it is pretty heartbreaking to see her falling apart the way in which we thought Damon might. But he didn't. Ironically, Elena broke herself.

Thank you so much for your gracious love! xoxo Ren


End file.
